


Hotel Road

by IntoTheRiverStyx



Series: Took my Boat Down to Hotel Road [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Agrivane/Lamorak - if you squint, F/M, M/M, Modern AU, Reincarnation, hotel au, the server made me do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23061784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheRiverStyx/pseuds/IntoTheRiverStyx
Summary: All it said was Arthur would return in Britain's greatest hour of need. It never said where, when, or under what circumstances he would return.Still, Bedivere and Kay arepositivethe hotel named Joyous Garde is their first step in finding the others. Unfortunately, they're all too right.
Relationships: Bedivere/Kay (Arthurian), Galahad/Mordred (Arthurian), Galehaut/Lancelot du Lac, Gawain/Bertilak de Hautdesert, Isolde the Fair/Tristan (Arthurian), Morgan/Viviane
Series: Took my Boat Down to Hotel Road [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663936
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	1. Search, No Rescue

Kay stood outside the building, phone in one hand and carry-on in the other. The faded brick structure stood out among the more streamlined buildings around it.

His eyes flicked between screen and front door several times before he locked his phone and slid it in his pocket.

“What I'm saying,” Bedivere said from beside him, “is if this is Joyous Garde's modern incarnation, the rest can't be that far behind.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Kay muttered.

Bedivere shrugged and started towards the building, trusting Kay would follow.

–

The girl – she couldn't have been out of high school – at the check-in desk was nice enough, handing Bedivere their room key without any hassle.

The building's plain facade had been a trick, Kay decided.

“If it isn't Lancelot's,” Bedivere said quietly, “I don't want to know who commissioned the decor.”

“It looks like a dungeon fucked a coffee shop and left the resulting child to be raised by wolves,” Kay said at normal volume.

“Well at least a third of that would be Lancelot's fault for getting captured so many times,” Bedivere shook his head, “Held in his own goddamned castle.”

“This was your idea,” Kay reminded him.

“This was the Merlin's idea some fifteen centuries ago and we're stuck in this hell for it,” Bedivere countered.

“I hate that you're right,” Kay grimaced.

“No you don't,” Bedivere smirked.

Kay decided this was a conversation for later.

–

“Here?” Dinadan asked, “Are you absolutely certain?”

Galehaut sighed and pointed to the video feed. He'd cued up the afternoon's feeds for review when he'd spotted them. Bedivere he wasn't sure about, but there was no mistaking Kay.

And if Kay was here, then the other had to be Bedivere. There was no one else through history Kay would follow without being held hostage, and he'd told Dinadan that much when he called him over.

“If this is a hostage situation then maybe we have a different set of things to focus on?” Dinadan suggested.

“Kay can take care of himself,” Galehaut shrugged, “Should we get Lance or not?”

“Not until we're sure,” the words felt like a betrayal as he said them, “It was bad enough when you were right about Agrivane.”

“Bit of a different history?” Galehaut raised an eyebrow.

“What if Kay doesn't remember?” Dinadan refused to acknowledge the comment, “Then we'd just have Lancelot barging into some strangers' room.”

“Which,” Galehaut changed the subject, “still waiting on the cut from your current guests.”

“Funds go through at the end of the trip,” Dinadan rolled his eyes, “They've rented _The Horse_ for three weeks.”

“Why the hell would you name a house boat _The Horse_ anyways?” Galeahut turned back towards the monitors, a clear dismissal.

“People of this era really, really like animals,” Dinadan said as he headed out.

Galehaut counted to five after the door was shut before letting his forehead hit the desk with a thud that echoed in the tiny security office.

–

Agrivane sat on the table – firmly ignoring the waiter's pleas to sit on a chair like everyone else – as he watched his brothers face off in a game of darts.

Gareth, to his surprise, was winning.

“How come you never play?” Mordred asked as he waited for his turn.

“We don't talk about that,” Agrivane said through his teeth.

“The hell we don't,” Gaharis loosed a dart, “He's terrible.”

“Not just terrible,” Gawain added, “He has a knack for bouncing the darts off the board in a way that makes them bounce back to him. Nearly pierced his own eyebrow the first time he played.”

“No,” Mordred's face lit up, “I have to see this.”

“Any blood on the floor again and you lot are banned for life!” the barkeeper yelled. A few of the other patrons cringed.

“It's a miracle they let us back here,” Gareth noted.

“The gods are dead,” Gawain shrugged, “or at the very least, long gone from this shitshow of a planet.”

“You'd know,” Gaheris loosed his last dart, “You've been looking for them, haven't you?”

“Not here,” Gawain's voice carried a warning.

Unsure if he meant _the gods would't be here, I'm not looking for them here,_ or _we're not having this conversation here,_ his brothers dropped it.

Well, almost.

“So he gets to drop topics,” Agrivane jabbed a thumb in Gawain's direction.

“Eldest's rights,” Gawain shrugged.

Mordred held out his darts towards Agrivane. “Come on, just one round. I'll even let it count against my score.”

Agrivane scowled and looked away.

–

Galehaut, despite his misgivings, held absolutely nothing back once he'd gotten home for the night.

“Welcome ho -” Lancelot's greeting was cut off by a sharp, loud intake of air on Galehaut's part.

“Dinadan thinks Kay and Bedivere are staying at the hotel and they checked in earlier today with a two month reservation,' Galehaut said as if it was only one word, “Also, hi.”

“What!?” a strangled cry came from the couch.

“It's not your week, Tristan,” Galehaut didn't even look towards him.

“She's on travel,” Tristan whined, “It's too quiet.”

“No,” Galehaut clapped his hands and pointed at the door, “Between you and Dinadan there's not enough couches.”

“Where are we going to send him?” Lancelot asked.

“Isolde's?” Galehaut suggested, “Or, you know, one of the unbooked rooms in the hotel we own?”

“Which we gave the most obvious name we could think of short of Camelot Castle in hopes of attracting more of our own,” Lancelot crossed his arms.

“The. Hotel,” Galehaut said slowly, “was built. To. Attract. Everyone.” He gestured around him to indicate that their home was, in fact, not the hotel.

“I, uh,” Tristan stood up suddenly, “I need to make sure I lock the stove. Left the door on. I need to.” He made a series of incomplete gestures mostly towards the door as he skittered past Galehaut.

Galehaut counted to ten. Lancelot uncrossed his arms.

“Oh thank fuck I thought he was never going to leave,” Lancelot exhaled.

“You're going to have to tell him no one day,” Galehaut frowned but still closed the distance. He collected Lancelot in his arms and held him close.

“Kay, you said?” Lancelot asked.

“I'd bet on it,” Galehaut nodded.

“You don't believe in betting,” Lancelot frowned.

“Hush,” Galehaut patted Lancelot's head.

–

Agrivane, upon discovering Lancelot, Galehaut, Tristan, Isolde, and Dinadan had all taken up residence within a few blocks of each other in San Fran-fucking-cisco, had rounded up his brothers he'd only previously had loose contact with and summoned them to the city.

He hadn't had a plan and Gawain had effectively secured the foraged identities that allowed them to live there undisturbed, but of course Gawain did.

The Solar Knight hadn't lost his shine. It just took new forms.

At first their relationship with those who had already settled had been tenuous at best. The Orkney Brothers were remembered for the downfall of Camelot – even Gawain had fallen from grace at the end of it all – but the threat of Arthur's return kept things mostly civil while everyone cased everyone else.

All five Orkney Brothers in a two-bedroom apartment with a single bathroom, however, was and continued to be a living nightmare.

“Gareth's sleeping on the counter again!” Mordred yelled, “Someone help me move him!”

A muffled 'No,' followed by a small scuffle broke out from the kitchen.

“Well maybe if your drunk ass hadn't decided bunk beds was the best way to manage having to share a room he wouldn't feel compelled to seek privacy in the kitchen!” Gawain called from somewhere in the back of the apartment, “Also, so help me, keep all bleeding contained to the tile!”

“Bleed on the carpets and I will personally dump a bucket of ice water on you in your sleep!” Gaheris called from the bathroom.

Gawain and Gaheris had split the master bedroom, separating it with rice paper screens that created an elegant pathway.

Agrivane slept in a tent behind the couch.

This was, he thought not for the first time, quite possibly a bigger mistake than all the mistakes he'd made in his first lifetime rolled together. Whatever fate, or destiny, or that mad old wizard who'd gone from advising Arthur to living literally inside a tree had in store for him, surely this wasn't it.

He sighed and moved around the kitchen scuffle to start making breakfast.

–

“It could be worse,” Bedivere told Kay as they left their hotel room the next morning, “It could have been France.”

“There's an implication that America's west coast is more ancient England than England herself,” Kay huffed, “What first?”

“First, we try to find any traces of magic,” Bedivere gave Kay a pointed look.

“And by we you mean me,” Kay guessed.

“You are the only one of the two of us with any inclinations towards magic,” Bedivere said effortlessly.

“If I bring Merlin down on our heads it's your fault,” Kay warned.

Bedivere shrugged, Kay's temper and threats long having lost any effect on him.

“There were some brochures in the lobby,” Kay pinched the bridge of his nose, “If nothing else, tourist traps tend to have some innate magic to them. There will be trails to follow from there.”

“Lobby first then,” Bedivere picked up his pace. Kay kept pace effortlessly.

“Or,” Kay stopped dead in his tracks despite being about twenty feet away from the lobby, “Or, we listen and follow the sound of the yelling.”

“Why would we follow yelling when we're trying to be discreet?” Bedivere stopped walking a step after Kay did.

“Listen,” Kay hissed.

Bedivere did.

“I can't believe you own a house boat,” an all-too-familiar voice came from the direction of the hotel pool, “In the most expensive city in the country, you take up space at the docks.”

“It's a solid investment, Mordred,” a second voice said, “In. Vest. Ment. Good things to have in a city experiencing a population boom like this one.”

“A fucking house boat,”the first voice – Mordred – said, “You literally own a house boat and yet you live in a hotel.”

“Only part-time!” the second voice was also far too familiar, “Otherwise it's Lance's or, well, my boat!”

“Mordred. Lance,” Bedivere said under his breath, “Not a coincidence.”

“And that third voice is a certain bard who never quite wanted to be a knight” Kay narrowed his eyes, “Still feeling subtle?”

“Nope,” Bedivere decided. He started running towards the voices before he could second-guess himself.

“Bedivere!” the name felt choked-off as Kay took off after him.

They were too fast, still moved too much like Knights in a city of Silicon Valley wannabes, to not cause alarm even if they were right.

Bedivere came to a halt half an arm's length away from the owner of the voices. Kay did not.

He crashed into Bedivere, who held firm and let Kay use him to regain his balance.

“I knew it!” Bedivere's face lit up.

“They've come to kill me,” Mordred took a step back.

“Don't put ideas in his head,” Bedivere covered Kay's ears, “He's got plenty of his own to contend with.”

“I will bite you,” Bedivere warned.

“Oh my god they bicker like Lance and Galehaut,” Dinadan's eyes widened.

“How many?” Kay demanded as he removed Bedivere's hands from his ears.

“You two make twelve,” Dinadan counted on his fingers.

“If the numbers are correct,” Bedivere let Kay move his hands, “we're missing two.”

“Is one of them my brother?” Kay's voice was sharp.”

“The Old Ways didn't make room for women,” Mordred crossed his arms, defensive, “So we're missing three.”

“I don't think the old ways really differentiated,” Kay argued, “Just the Christians.”

“Every word of that was wrong,” Mordred bristled, “and besides, Arthur's supposed to appear in Britain's greatest hour of need. We may well all be stuck in America with our thumbs up our asses for the rest of this life.”

“I -” Kay blinked a few times.

“Never said he'd return to Britain,” Dinadan pointed out, “Galehaut thought it was you yesterday. Before you ask, there's a lot to explain and this is a terrible place to do it.”

“Where's a less-terrible place to do it?” Kay asked.

“Well, either Lancelot and Galehaut's house, or the apartment Mordred shares with his brothers,” Dinadan frowned.

“Those both sound like terrible options for vastly different reasons,” Bedivere's shoulders dropped, “but at least we don't have to go on a magical scavenger hunt.”

“Magical scavanger hunt sounds preferable,” Mordred's eyes went wide.

“Who was first?” Bedivere asked, “Insofar as memory, who was first?”

“Of the ten of us here, Tristan, why?' Dinadan replied.

“Second?” Bedivere flinched.

“Lancelot,” Dinadan told him.

“We go to Lancelot's,” Bedivere decided.

“Horrible idea, “Mordred said under his breath, “I'll go round up the others.”

Kay and Bedivere watched Dinadan and Mordred leave in two separate directions at a walk brisk enough to call a jog without indicating if or who they should follow.

“Didn't Mordred kill him?” Kay asked, unmoving.

“One of the Orkneys did,” Bedivere shook his head, “We're in for a long, long vacation.”

Kay grabbed Bedivere by the wrist and decided they were going to follow Dinadan.


	2. Prepared but Not Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men and how they go astray and such.
> 
> Whoever they were, they'd neglected to say anything about what happens when the best of intentions are horrendous at planning.
> 
> Lancelot has a lot to say about it, though.

Agrivane woke to a scream that had him reaching for a sword that, if it hadn't been melted down by whoever took over Camelot after Camlann, was long reclaimed by the earth itself.

“Take it back!” Gareth's voice was shrill, “You take that back right now!”

“No!” Mordred's voice boomed.

Agrivane emerged from his tent, disoriented and ready to fight if for no other reason than principle.

Gawain and Gaheris ran down the hallway.

“What happened?” Gawain demanded.

“He said he needed to toast his ravioli right before he threw me off the counter!” Gareth's voice hadn't dropped any of its shrillness.

“That's what you get for – wait, what?” Gawain stopped mid-sentence, “If anything they're a sandwich.”

“Gareth, don't wake the neighbors,” Agrivane snapped, “Mordred, no ravioli in the toaster.”

“Fine,” Mordred groaned, “but if you make me eat room-temperature breakfast I'm not telling you the exciting news.”

There was no warning before Agrivane crossed the kitchen in two strides, grabbed Mordred by the earlobe, and twisted.

“Ow, ow, ow, stop, stop, come on, you just said not to, ow, not to wake the neighbors,” Mordred whimpered as his entire body followed the twisting, pulling force.

“I told Gareth not to wake the neighbors,” Agrivane reminded him, “I told you no ravioli in the toaster. What. Is. The News.”

“Ow, ow, okay, yes, you, ow, let me go, Agrivane, so help me,” Mordred grabbed Agrivane's wrist and tried to stop the pulling.

“It doesn't take much force to pull an ear off,” Agrivane warned.

“Oh please,” Gaheris rolled his eyes, “You'd let go the instant you heard skin rip.”

“And probably vomit,” Mordred tried the less self-preserving route, “If I lose my ear you get no news for the rest of this life.”

“Fine,” Agrivane huffed and let go, “Still no ravioli in the toaster.”

“Put them in the microwave like the rest of us,” Gareth yawned.

“Right!” Mordred shoved his poptarts in the microwave and hit the 'plus 30 seconds' button, “Anyways, Kay and Bedivere are in town.”

Gawain's “When did you find out?” was drowned out by overlapping, shouted questions from the other three brothers.

The microwave made a series of horrifying sounds that caused all questioning to stop in its tracks.

“Mordred,” Agrivane said slowly, “did you take your poptarts out of their wrapper?”

“Shit, nope,” Mordred opened the microwave to stop it.

The smoke alarm went off.

Agrivane, not for the first time, wondered if he should have never brought his brothers to San Francisco and just told destiny to shove it up its ass.

–

Dinadan was sitting on Galehaut's chair in the security office while Galehaut stood behind him.

“Do you really watch the screens all day?” Dinadan asked.

“Pretty much,” Galehaut shrugged, “Having a security officer is pretty essential to being treated as a not-completely-sketch hotel, even if Lancelot managed more sedating magics than a visible security presence could give us.”

“Lancelot knows magic?” Dinadan turned around to face Galehaut, “And isn't that a little...invasive?”

“Less invasive than cameras everywhere,” Galehaut shrugged, “And no shit. He was raised by the lady of the lake.”

“He kept them?” Dinadan was on his feet.

“Yes,” Galehaut was already looking at the door, “Why?”

“I need to go find out how long Kay can hold his breath!” Dinadan exclaimed as he ran out the door.

Galehaut watched him run.

–

“Hello?” Lancelot cradled his cell between his ear and shoulder so he could continue cooking, “What do you want?”

“A little sanity,” Agrivane's voice came from the other end.

“If this is about the new arrivals I was going to text you after work,” Lancelot told him, “It's barely past lunch.”

Agrivane sighed, a broken thing.

“They'll be over around seven,” Lancelot told Agrivane, “If your brothers want to come, I'm expecting civility and no broken furniture.”

“How do you feel about appliances?” Agrivane asked.

“If it's absolutely required, they can break my washing machine,” Lancelot said.

“Thanks,” Agrivane rubbed his free hand down the side of his face, “I can't promise how many will show up.”

“Tell them we'll have snacks!” Tristan's voice came from the background.

“Is he not at work?” Agrivane asked mindlessly.

“He's working from home,” Lancelot explained, “Not his home, obviously.”

“Oh my god,” Agrivane laughed, “Okay, washer, got it.”

“See you at seven,” Lancelot said. Agrivane hung up before Lancelot had the chance.

“I'm surprised you're so civil to him,” Tristan said as Lancelot let his phone fall to the counter.

“Fifteen hundred years gives a lot of time for introspection,” Lancelot shrugged.

“They killed a lot of people,” Tristan reminded him, “and you're stress baking, which means you're not happy about something.”

“And I didn't?” Lancelot stopped stirring for a moment, “If we treat each other like we learned anything, this might not blow up in our faces. Also, Kay and Bedivere are back. They're...they're a host unto themselves.”

“Might,” Tristan repeated.

“I know you heard none of his part of the conversation and have exchanged fewer than fifty words with him since they all moved here,” Lancelot didn't turn to face Tristan, “and while I really can't say it about his brothers, Agrivane is just TIRED.”

“Wonder what changed him so much,” Tristan wondered aloud.

“You could ask him,” Lancelot said in a way that meant the conversation was over.

–

Kay stood on top of Mount Davidson, eyes narrowed and fingers twitching.

Bedivere stood beside him, trying to catch his breath.

“There's no better spot to stop mapping than the highest point,” Kay told him for something like the fifth time, “Plus we kind of forgot the procures yesterday. And this morning.”

“Yesterday was spent chasing Dinadan all over the city,” Bedivere grumbled, “Personal tour guide my ass.”

“Hmm,” Kay agreed, “It's almost beautiful, from far away.”

“Everything looks better from far away,” Bedivere argued.

“Well excuse me,” Kay pretended to be affronted.

“The day I start calling you a thing we need to re-evaluate our relationship,” Bedivere finally caught his breath, “Also, pretty sure we were supposed to drive most of the way up here.”

“It's a nice day for a jog, proper paths or no,” Kay shrugged, “and I love you, too.”

“Well thank fuck for that,” Bedivere leaned against Kay and let him continue his surveying in relative silence.

–

Dinadan was the first to arrive at Lancelot's for the evening if one took into consideration that Tristan hadn't left all day.

By the time Galehaut made it home, Dinadan had managed to perch himself on the kitchen windowsill, balanced so precariously it seemed part of an illusion.

“Lance,” Galehaut wrapped his arms around Lancelot's waist and pressed against him while Lancelot arranged the last of the snacks, “were you cooking all day?”

“Pretty much,” Lancelot admitted.

“You're more nervous about Kay and Bedivere than you were about the entire Orkney pack?” Galehaut said, disbelieving, “Lance, it's _Kay and Bedivere_.”

“It's Arthur's foster-brother and oldest friend in the twenty-first century,” Lancelot pointed out, “They could have conquered the world between them the first time, but they were loyal to Arthur.”

“Are you seriously worried they're going to make a move to usurp him before he even gets back,” Galehaut leaned back, “Come on, turn around and look at me and say that.”

“That's, what, no,” Lancelot sputtered but turned around to face Galehaut anyways, “Everything until now – and including right now if my phone call with Agrivane earlier was any indicator - is kind of a disaster. There's no plan, no idea what's going to happen, no -”

“There wasn't much of a plan the first time,” Dinadan cut him off.

“Having a moment,” Galehaut called over his shoulder, “Outside, you two.”

Tristan and Dinadan listened.

“I'm sorry,” Lancelot plopped his forehead on Galehaut's chance, “They're...aside from Arthur, they were the two highest-ranking, most senior, and most powerful members of the Table.”

“Which means if they're here, the rest of those who are going to show up will be here in short order,” Galehaut added, “Lance, sweetheart, you've done more than anyone ever asked of you, your first life and this one. This isn't about them at all, is it?”

“I,” Lancelot started chewing on his lower lip, “There's so many who aren't here yet. If this is the beginning of the end of the preparation steps...”

“Galahad,” Galehaut guessed.

“I wanted to do better,” Lancelot let himself go limp against Galehaut, “I don't want to talk about it, not not and not when we have maybe ten minutes until everyone else starts showing up.”

“When and if you're ready,” Galehaut assured him, “Everyone else?”

“Agrivane, at least,” Lancelot told him, “I told him his brothers could break the washer if they needed to break something.”

“We can get a new on with our tax returns,” Galehaut promised him, “What time did you tell them?”

“Seven,” Lancelot told him.

“Which means they'll be closer to seven-thirty,” Galehaut realized, “And Kay and Bedivere?”

“Seven-thirty,” Lancelot answered.

“Which means they'll be here at least ten minutes before seven,” Galehaut squeezed Lancelot once, “What do you need from me?”

“Go make sure those two aren't doing anything more daft than usual on or with the deck,” Lancelot told him, “then if we can get anything irreplacable out of the living and dining room before the Orkneys show up, that's be good idea.”

“Of course,” Galehaut offered Lancelot a small smile.

Lancelot watched Galehaut go before he turned his attentions back towards his foods.

Whatever was coming, he realized, no amount of time would allow him to feel prepared for.


	3. Interlude:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst? In my shitpost of a fanfic? It's more likely than you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some background gets established, some things get broken, everyone's yelling.

Kay and Bedivere were, as Galehaut had predicted, at the front door at ten minutes 'til 7.

The Orkney brothers – all five of them – arrived at ten after seven, four of them still actively bickering behind Agrivane, who'd rung the doorbell.

Kay had secured a spot in the corner of the living room as close to the corner as possible. He stood with his back to the wall and left heel propped against the baseboard. Bedivere was leaning against Kay, situated with his back against Kay's chest. He held a small plate of assorted cheeses, crackers, and dried meats Dinadan had been almost too excited to hand him. Kay periodically removed one arm from around Bedivere's waist to swipe a small piece of food, attention fixated the shitshow unfolding by the formerly pristine couches.

Every pretense of having a civil, sane evening went to hell with the first spilled glass of wine.

“This is just like Camelot,” Bedivere noted, his voice low.

“Are they aware therapy exists now?” Kay's voice was equally quite, breath tickling Bedivere's ear.

“Aware and able to utilize are two entirely different metnal states,” Bedivere twisted his neck to turn the side of his face towards Kay.

“Yes, yes,” Kay pressed a quick kiss to the offered cheek, “But you have to admit – this, at least, is familiar.”

“Like the energy you felt coming towards the city?” Bedivere's voice was closer to normal volume.

“Like the what?” Dinadan asked as he slid next to the couple.

“Energy,” Kay repeated for Bedivere, “Coming towards the city from the general direction of the airport.”

“Magic, right,” Dinadan frowned, “Can you still do it like you used to.”

“Depends on the it,” Kay said effortlessly. Bedivere hissed his name and kicked him in the shin. Kay laughed, a sharp noise from the otherwise quiet corner.

Mordred was too invested in yelling at Gareth to notice how still everyone else had gotten.

“If you hadn't taken issue with my ravioli we wouldn't be in this position!” Mordred noticed the sudden shift in the room's affect belatedly, “What happened?”

“Kay made a sound,” Gawain tried to explain.

“I make a lot of sounds,” Kay teased, “Most of them even sound like recognizable words. And most of those form sentences.”

“Oh my god nothing has changed,” Dinadan's face lit up, “What were you saying about the energy?”

“Just that it was coming towards the city, seemed familiar, and I didn't really keep any sort of track of it,” Kay shrugged.

“If you focused, could you locate it?” Galehaut tried to get one reasonable question in before the Noise that followed the Orkneys returned to the night.

“Was it friendly?” Gaheris asked.

“Was it magic?” Gawain asked.

“Was it human?” Mordred asked.

“Goddamnit,” Kay muttered, the curse lost to the overlapping question, each one making less sense than that which preceded it.

“So uh,” Dinadan kept his voice low,” “ _Can you_ feel it if you focus?”

Kay sighed, closed his eyes, and tightened his grip on Bedivere in place of any grounding measures. He was still for maybe a whole of three seconds before his eyes flew open and his whole form rensed up.

“It's at the door,” Kay's voice was tight.

“I got it!” Dinadan skittered off towards the general direction of the front door.

“Should we worry?” Bedivere asked.

“Bit late for that,” Kay forced himself to relax.

“YOU!” a shout came from the front door.

Four-fifths of the Orkneys clambered over each other, slipping and sliding and falling and slipping again as they tried to be the first to see what was going on.

“If they break something it's going on your tab,” Galehaut warned Agrivane.

“Fuck knows I'm the only one in that god-forsaken apartment who earns enough to pay for them,” Agrivane grumbled, “Kay, should we be ready for a fight?”

“No worse than the rest of the evening,” Kay said quickly.

“YOU!” Mordred's voice came from the front door.

“There's three of them, which one are you shouting at?” Gawain's voice was quick to follow.

“Huh,” was all Kay said.

“It's,” Lancelot's face fell.

“Galahad?” Galehaut guessed.

“And company from the sounds of it,” Kay sighed, “They'll be along or they won't. Your hall is too narrow to risk getting trampled by, well.” He looked pointedly in the direction Agrivane's brothers had gone.

There was shouting, each word eclipsed by at least four others, getting louder and louder as the newcomers were herded into the living room.

“Percival,” Kay recognized the young Knight first. The name-accusation hybrid was drowned out to all but Bedivere.

“Cover your ears,” Bedivere said to Kay. Kay did so just before Bedivere loosed a loud, sharp whistle that had everyone making pained sounds before falling silent.

The Orkney brothers fell back from the newcomers to reveal Percival – standing tall but so obviously anxious – accompanied by a very done-with-this-shit-already Bors and a slight, haunted-looking Galahad.

“Well this sure as shit isn't the Grail Castle,” Galahad looked around the room.

“Good news is that wasn't what we were looking for,” Bors said more for everyone else's benefit.

“The Grail Knights are still traveling together,” Dinadan rushed to fill the silence before more shouting found its way in, “How did you find, uh, us?”

Galahad pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapped at it for a few seconds, then held up the AirBnB listing for Dinadan's house boat for those close enough to see it.

“The hotel?” Bedivere strained to look.

“What hotel?” Percival asked.

“Joyous Garde?” Bedivere tilted his head.

“Joy – dad?” Galahad dropped his phone.

Lancelot's sigh was nearly ear-shattering.

“You have a deck,” Bors stated the obvious, “Excuse me.” He made his way across the room and opened the back door as he held up a pack of cigarettes.

“Not a bad idea,” Dinadan said aloud as he followed Bors.

There was an exodus that left Lancelot and Galahad alone in the living room.

Agrivane was the last one out. He shut the door behind him and stood with his back tot he doorknob.

“I don't smoke,” Dinadan said as soon as Bors offered him the pack, “it just seemed like a good idea to give them a moment.”

“Ah,” Bors pocketed the pack and then looked around at the sheer volume of Knights before producing the pack again and holding it out.

Gawain took it.

“So, uh, the house boat?” Dinadan asked.

“It was featured on a blog,” Bors explained, “Your eyes are the same.”

“That's a stretch,” Dinadan shook his head.

“Your eyes are gold,” Tristan pointed out, “Not yellow, not really light brown. Gold, Dinadan, gold.”

“Better question,” Kay had his elbows on the deck railing and was leaning over, eyes unfixed in the general direction of the horizon, “How long have you three been traveling together?”

“Maybe three years?” Percival tried to do the math, “Not constantly, but yeah, thereabouts.”

“Percival and Galahad met in college,” Bors had more words, “I met them both at an MMA tournament three years ago and, well.”

“Once you run into someone from that point it's hard to turn back,” Dinadan finished for him, “Even if it is San Fran-fucking-cisco you wind up moving to.”

“All of you live here?” Bors asked.

“Minus Kay and Bedivere,” Dinadan nodded, dimly aware everyone else was watching him and Bors have a conversation, “They just got here yesterday.”

“Run the timeline by me,” Bors prompted.

“Lancelot and Galehaut settled here first,” Dinadan indicated Galehaut with a jerk of his head in the other man's direction, “then myself, then Agrivane, then the other four.”

“Agrivane,” Bors turned towards the man he was addressing, “what was the order for you five?”

“Better question for Gawain,” Agrivane let his brother take over.

“I met Mordred first,” Gawain explained, “On a cruise of all things. Lots of screaming, an embarrassing amount of crying, even more mix drinks from the unlimited bar. It was just us in contact with each other for well over five years before Mordred found Agrivane at a market in Istanbul. Gareth and Gaheris showed up at my work less than a week apart.

“Agrivane was on a work trip when his company booked his hotel at Lancelot's hotel and well,” Gawain looked back towards Agrivane.

“Mostly screaming and a lot of old demons brought back to life before they were laid to rest again,” Agrivane kept the details sparse, “but the three of them were already well-established here and my company had a partner company I was able to transfer to. The rest of my brothers followed me here ans well. That was something like two years ago?”

“Then five of us show up in two days,” Percival frowned, “Kay, Bedivere, how long have you been, well.” He hesitated to put words to them.

“High school?” Kay twisted to face Bedivere.

“A-levels,” Bedivere nodded, “but yeah. So that's...”

“Over two decades?” Kay tried to remember how old he was.

“Over,” Bedivere agreed, “Closer to three at this point.”

“Christ,” Percival swore.

“Makes sense in a way,” Agrivane looked between them, “You two were always the closest to each other.”

“Still are,” Tristan appraised.

“When do we go back in and make sure they're okay?” Percival looked towards the door.

“Give them a few,” Agrivane held his position by the door.

“There's no screaming,” Mordred marveled.

“Is Galahad alright?” Bedivere asked.

“He's,” Bors paused, “he's alright.”

Bedivere was unconvinced but he let the subject drop.

“They're just staring at each other,” Gareth stood on his toes to try to see over or around Agrivane.

“Move,” Galehaut told Agrivane, “Rest of you, stay here for a minute.”

Agrivane let Galehaut back into his own house.

“So are they...?” Percival indicated Galehaut.

“Married,” Dinadan nodded, “They're private about their own reunion, but they were married and living together before I met them.”

“All hail the twenty-first century,” Bors smiled.

“Where are you all living?” Kay asked, “We're based in Wales.”

“Amsterdam,” Percival answered, “though Galahad and I were born in northern England.”

“I was born in Russia,” Bors said, “Amsterdam seemed like a good compromise.”

“More questions than answers,” Dinadan muttered. Tristan kicked him. Dinadan elbowed Tristan.

Bors pulled them apart before anything could escalate.

“Save it for after we know the indoor people are alright?” Bors suggested. Dinadan and Tristan huffed but disengaged.

“This is the most well-behaved we've been as a group,” Agrivane marveled, “Ever, I think.”

“Camelot was a place for warriors,” Bors agreed, “and not much else.”

“Should have tried running the kitchens,” Kay shook his head as he hopped up to sit on the railing. Tristan was quick to pull him back off.

“Not all of it's stable,” Tristan explained.

“I'll fix it,” Bors shrugged.

“The end-of-the-world prophecy is coming together and you're worried about fixing a deck?” Gawain almost laughed.

“If the world does not end,” Bors said plainly, “the deck will still need repair. If the world does end, then there's no stopping it and I'll want to stay busy. Is there anything we're actively working on?”

“You fit back in so easily,” there was a bitterness to Agrivane's words, “No, there isn't.”

“Well, not burning down any buildings,” Gawain was glaring at Mordred.

“A microwave isn't a building,” Mordred held up his hands.

“How the fuck did you burn down a microwave?” Kay asked louder than he needed to.

“Are poptarts a ravioli?” Mordred asked Kay.

“What the ass kind of question is that?” Kay blanched.

The arguing started again before Bors had a chance to stop it.

–

“Ah, good, they're yelling again,” Galehaut looked back at the crowd on the porch, “Are you two alright.”

“They're a nosy bunch of bastards,” Galahad's voice was soft, “It's. Yeah, I guess?”

“Galahad,” Lancelot's voice was a breath away from shattering.

“Dad,” Galahad managed to look Lancelot in the eyes.

“Galahad, I'm -” Lancelot started.

“Don't,” Galahad crossed his arms, “It was so, so long ago and I'd rather start over.”

“You'd rather,” Lancelot opened and closed his mouth a few times, “Right, of course.” Lancelot straightened his spine as much as he could, body tense and jaw clenched.

Galehaut sighed and walked so that he was standing behind Lancelot. Galahad took half a step back, feeling like the older Knights were ganging up on him.

Galehaut dropped his chin so that it rested on Lancelot's shoulder. “It's been five minutes,” Galehaut told Lancelot, “and you did say you didn't want to talk about it tonight.”

“That was before -” Lancelot sputtered.

“You talk about me?” Galahad uncrossed his arms.

“Yes,” Galehaut answered for Lancelot.

“What do you say?” Galahad was still on the defensive.

A snapping sound and a crash from the deck told Galehaut and Lancelot someone had finally broken the deck railing.

“NO NO NO!” Tristan's voice cut above the noise, “HOW?”

Galahad spared the chaos a moment's glance before turning his attentions back to his father.

“There's a lot I should have told you,” Lancelot tried to find the words, “Should have done, should have not done. I...everything feels like it's only going to get faster and more chaotic from here and I wanted to do better this time.”

“We still have time,” Galahad decided to say, “Your deck, I fear, may not.”

“If it's the Orkneys they'll be fine,” Galehaut assured him.

“Are they still...?” Galahad paused, searching for the closest thing to a kind adjective he could affix to the brothers.

“Every single word you're thinking, yes,” Lancelot smiled despite himself, “Except murderous.”

“Huh,” was all Galahad had to say.

“The railing's really broken, isn't it?” Lancelot didn't turn around.

“And on fire,” Galahad craned his neck, “Okay, no, now it's frozen.”

“KAY!” Galehaut shouted as he opened the back door. Agrivane, who had been leaning against the door, stumbled backwards, colliding with Galehaut.

Galehaut shoved Agrivane off him, still shouting at Kay, demanding to know what happened.

“His magic works!” Dinadan had both hands raised in the air, a triumphant gesture.

“I may have overshot it,” Kay's voice filtered through the excited chatter.

“You set my deck on fire!” Galehaut flailed.

“Not intentionally!” Kay shouted back, “I hadn't tried this life and was NOT aiming for your deck!”

“What WERE you aiming for?” Galehaut demanded.

“I,” Kay faltered, “good question.”

“Holy fuck,” Galahad surprised Lancelot with the curse, “It really is The Round Table two-point-oh.”

“In every possible direction,” Lancelot had finally turned to look at the chaos.

Galahad made a quietly amused noise and stepped outside to immerse himself in the storm that was forming on his fathers' ruined deck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your normally (un)scheduled shitposting will resume in chapter 4.


	4. Every Which Way but Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are happening but no one knows what things are or where they're going.

Agrivane was only a little disappointed the waiter wasn't yelling at him for sitting on the table.

“Might be his night off,” Gawain suggested.

“It's not the weekend,” Gaheris said from the dart line.

“Sick?” Gawain guessed again.

“Don't say that in a restaurant,” Gaheris warned, “and besides, we're only operating at sixty percent power.”

“We know where Mo and Gareth are,” Agrivane used Mordred's nickname, “At least, we know where we left them.”

Where they had left them was on Lancelot's deck, trying to provoke Kay to see what type of magic the former senechal still had power over, but that was entirely beside any point currently being made.

“Don't you have work in the morning?” Gawain asked Agrivane.

“Yes,” Agrivane's voice was flat.

“What's wrong?” Gawain actually sounded concerned about his brother, “I haven't heard you this terse in a long time.”

“It's just a lot,” Agrivane shook his head as if to clear it, “I'm debating taking some time off work just to be ready for when shit gets blown wide open.”

“You know we can't schedule aremgeddeon,” Gawain tisked, “What's actually bothering you?”

“He's missing someone,” Gaheris hadn't taken his eyes off the dart board, so he missed the genuine pain behind Agrivane's death glare aimed directly at the back of his head, “Someone who hasn't shown up yet but hell if he'll tell either of us who.”

“Play nice,” Gawain's tone was teasing, but Gaheris didn't miss the warning.

“And besides, it's whom,” Agrivane felt petty.

“Depending on the sentence it could be either,” Gawain wasn't really feeling like mediating.

“That's not how _prepositions_ work,” Agrivane balked.

Not here. Not in front of normal people.

“Everyone's changed so much,” Gaheris loosed his dart, “Well, except maybe us.”

“We might get on better if we didn't live on top of each other,” Gawain still had an eye on Agrivane, “But this city is so fucking expensive.”

“It's priced for senior-level and above tech professionals,” Gaheris practically spat out the last two words.

“Which is exactly why I can afford to keep you lot living in a weather-proof box,” Agrivane reminded him.

“You're up,” Gaheris ceded the dart board to Gawain, “We're playing first to what tonight?”

“Getting kicked out,” Gawain shrugged before his head snapped up, “Food's coming.”

Agrivane and Gaheris' attentions took a sharp turn towards the bartender, who was filling the waiter's role.

“Hope it's good,” the bartender addressed Agrivane directly, “Say, you lot are here at least three nights a week and yet I know none of your names?”

“I pay cash,” Agrivane's tone was dismissive. The bartender frowned and put the food down.

“Dude,” Gawain said as soon as the bartender was out of earshot, “we have got to work on your people skills.”

“No we don't,” Agrivane argued as he reached for his food. He pulled his plate onto his lap and started eating, “Also, how are all of us still hungry?”

“Screaming takes a lot of energy,” Gawain finished his turn at the board before he sat at the table, “and Lance served snacks, not dinner.”

“It's ten at night,” Agrivane complained.

“Like any of us sleep,” Gawain's laugh was humorless.

Gaheris was already several bites into his chicken sandwich, so all he could contribute to the conversation was muffled sounds of agreement.

–

Kay was face down on the hotel bed before he could finish getting his shoes off.

“I'll admit I'm impressed,” Bedivere told him once the door was closed – once he was sure they were alone.

“I'm both pleased and horrified by my own actions,” Kay's voice was muffled by the mattress, “I thought Galehaut was going to go for blood. My blood.”

“Like Lance would let him,” Bedivere finished removing his own shoes and then moved onto removing Kay's, “I'm just glad the neighbors didn't see anything. Or at least didn't call emergency services.”

“It's America,” Kay muttered, “the entire country's foundation was made with weird ass shit and denial.”

Bedivere chuckled as he finished unlacing Kay's shoes before sliding them off.

“Don't forget to charge your arm,” Kay reminded him.

“I forgot once,” Bedivere's chuckle was less rich this time, “Only once.”

“I don't doubt that,” Kay said as he rolled over, “Come here.”

“Just a moment,” Bedivere set to removing his prosthetic, “Do you ever think about how weird it is I'm missing almost the exact same amount of arm?”

“I think about how you scared the piss out of me,” Kay sat up, “When the hospital called I feared – I though the worst.”

“I know,” Bedivere fiddled with the charger, “I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Kay held out a hand, “Whichever bastard didn't check all the equipment...”

“You'll kill him before I even get the chance,” Bedivere knew how this conversation went, “The model helps with the phantom limb deal a great bit.”

“Replacing nerves with complicated electronics,” Kay shook his head, “What a world we've been reborn into.”

“Always you, though,” Bedivere finally turned around and grabbed Kay's outstretched hand. Kay pulled and Bedivere let Kay drag him until he was lying on top of his partner.

“It's only going to get weirder from here,” Kay said as if it was some trivial note to be forgotten come morning.

“Hmn,” Bedivere nuzzled his face into Kay's neck.

“What if this _is_ it?” Kay asked, “The life we're all supposed to rally around Arthur again?”

“Well if it isn't I'm not complaining,” Bedivere informed him, “I got to spend it with you and if we come back again and remember this life _and_ our first we are going to have some WILD stories for blackmail purposes.”

“And everyone thinks I'm the cynic,” Kay wrapped a lazy arm around Bedivere's back, the other still grasping his hand.

“Galahad looks so haunted,” Bedivere said suddenly.

“If he remembers with the same level of detail we do,” Kay frowned, “His first life was fucked up.”

“I know,” Bedivere sighed.

“Like, were everything to happen now, child protective services would have been called before he could walk,” Kay kept talking.

“And most all of us would be in prison for life,” Bedivere shifted so that he was a little better balanced, “It's nice, in its own way, the ability to look back and realized how fucked up it all was.”

“The kindest thing Vivian did for the world was imprison Merlin in that tree until the end of time,” Kay appraised.

“I hate that that isn't even a cynical thing to say,” Bedivere shivered.

“Come on now,” Kay urged, “We're here for at least two weeks or until the end of the world or both; we can worry about the what-ifs later.”

“Okay, that was cynical,” Bedivere informed him.

“Wasn't saying it wasn't,” Kay shrugged. Bedivere laughed and nudged Kay with his foot. Kay smirked and held Bedivere closer.

–

Lancelot, Galehaut, Galahad, Bors, Percival, Dinadan, and Tristan stood on what was probably the safest part of the deck.

“So uh,” Dinadan was closest to the house, “that happened.”

“You couldn't've pointed him at the washer, could you?” Lancelot asked.

“Well if you're okay with this happening in the house I'm sure he'll melt it down for you,” Dinadan said effortlessly, “though I'm not sure how the removal company would take that.”

“Rent a truck and shove the remains into a public waste station,” Tristan suggested.

“Little more worried about the rest of the house,” Galehaut's voice was strained.

“I doubt you're getting your deposit back,” Bors appraised the situation.

“We own,” Lancelot told him, “but yeah, the homeowner's insurance company would NOT believe the foster-brother of the once and future king _burned down the house_ because a bard with more curiosity than forethought pointed him at the washing machine.”

“You say that so effortlessly,” Dinadan was grinning.

“There's an implication,” Galahad's voice was much quieter than everyone else's, “that Kay's magic is stronger this time.”

“Walk me through your thought process,” Bors encouraged him.

“If he was telling the truth when he said he hadn't tried before,” Galahad explained, “and he was able to go from fire to ice so quickly...think about it, he NEVER turned on such a sharp pivot even with years on years of practice.”

“Huh,” Tristan made a strangled sound.

“Lance,” Dinadan turned to the hotel owner, “You've got your magic, too, this life. Is it different?”

“I don't have to think about it as much or try as hard,” Lancelot pursed his lips to the side, “My magics were never as obvious as Kay's.”

“Galahad?” Bors' voice was serious this time, an unspoken question contained within the young Knight's name.

“Mine are also easier,” Galahad crossed his arms and closed his eyes, “and more powerful. Like, I don't have to reach for them. They're always just _right there_ , waiting for me.”

Lancelot hadn't known his son had any magical talents. 

It made sense, he supposed, in a twisted way.

“I got them during the Grail quest,” Galahad kept talking as if he sensed Lancelot's confusion, “Everything we were promised the Grail would be was a load of fetid horse shit but it still had...well. It had _something_.”

“What about you two?” Tristan asked Bors and Percival, blind to the danger in Galahad's words.

Bors and Percival both shook their heads, a clear no.

“Not unlike Pandora's box,” Galahad's were still closed, “If the box only affected the one who opened it.”

“Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,” Bors spat, “That you survived the encounter was the only miracle of that quest.”

“And, apparently, the magics followed me into this life,” Galahad shivered, “Who knows who else had magic the first time, and how they'll be effected if they're back for round two.”

“We should figure how to light a non-literal beacon,” Galehaut was thinking aloud, “A way to draw in anyone else who's seeking.”

“There's something to the facial recognition,” Galehaut said, “Even if it isn't physical. I recognized Kay from the security camera footage.”

“And we recognized Dinadan from his AirBnB listing,” Percival added, “There's never been a time in history where the world's been more interconnected.”

The group fell quiet, looking between each other.

“Not to ruin whatever's building,” Percival looked towards the house, “but where'd Mordred and Gareth go?”

“I thought they left with the others?” Galehaut and Lancelot exchanged a worried look.

Percival shook his head. “They took a left instead of going up towards the front door.”

“They were rather drunk,” Tristan added.

“Oh,” something like relief washed over Galehaut, “probably just passed out on the basement steps then.”

“I hear the again,” Bors raised an eyebrow.

“Have you met the Orkney brothers?” Dinadan laughed.

“Where are you three staying?” Lancelot asked the Grail trio.

“We were going to figure it out as we went along,” Bors shrugged, “Though it's past one in the morning so probably just sleeping in the rental car.”

“Unacceptable,” Tristan was quick to say, “Isolde is going to be out of town for at least another week, you can stay at hers. Come, I'll even drive.”

Bors and Percival were whisked off to Tristan's car so quickly that they barely noticed Galahad stayed behind.

“Can I just..?” Galahad didn't finish his question, afraid of the possibility of rejection.

“Stay,” Lancelot said.

“I'll go make coffee,” Dinadan yawned, “You three are in for a long night.”

“What about you?” Galahad asked.

“Who has the keys to your rental?” Dinadan asked.

“Bors,” Galahad answered.

“Cool if I just pop the lock and sleep in the back?” Dinadan looked ready to fall asleep where he stood.

“Not my rental, not my problem,” Galahad shrugged.

“Cool,” Dinadan nodded, “Give me, like, three minutes to get the coffee going for you three then I'm out until morning.”

–

“Tristan!” Isolde called into her apartment, “Tristan, honey, I'm back early! Tristan?”

Bors work with a start. For a moment he was worried he'd slept through an entire week. When he realized that was impossible, the worry became a panic.

Isolde, if she did not recognize him or Percival, had just come home to two strangers.

“Isolde,” Bors called, “Isolde, please, try not to scream.”

The funny thing about telling someone not to scream, Bors would realize when he reflected on that moment later, was it almost always produced the exact opposite effect.

Percival rolled off the couch and pointed himself towards the balcony door, ready to flee.

“Perc, we are seventeen stories up, do _not_ ,” Bors hissed.

“You have ten seconds to show yourself before I call the cops!” Isolde shouted, “One! Two!”

Bors all but ran to the front of the apartment, arms splayed out to his sides to show he was unarmed.

“You!” Isolde dropped her bags, “How did you get here? How did you get in my apartment?”

“By plane and by Tristan,” Bors explained, “This. This is awkward. Perc, it's alright.”

“Start talking,” Isolde crossed her arms, eyeing Bors with no small measure of distrust. Percival came into view slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. He came to a standstill just behind Bors.

“We got in last night,” Bors could follow directions, “Percival, Galahad, and myself. Galahad is still at Lancelot's.”

“Jesus,” Isolde swore, “and Tristan just dropped you off here?”

“I think so?” Bors wasn't sure where Tristan was, really, “We met, uh, everyone.”

“Let me guess: More wine and shouting than is good for anyone's better judgment,” she sighed, “Come on, I'll fix us breakfast and you can tell me what I missed.”

Bors looked back to Percival and shrugged. 

For free food, he'd answer just about any question.

–

Tristan woke up in a car he didn't recognize. The parking garage, however, he absolutely recognized as being attached to Isolde's building.

“Fuck fucking fuck,” he flailed until he was able to sit upright in the back seat.

The previous night's events came back to him like a flood.

“Fucking fuck fuck,” he kept swearing as if it was the only word he knew.

He scrambled to make sure he had a set of keys and his cell phone on him before bolting up to Isolde's to check on Bors and Percival.

The smell of bacon hit him as soon as he opened the door.

“Bors? Percival?” Tristan called into the apartment.

“Tristan, honey, I've been catching up with your friends,” Isolde's voice answered him, “Also, I'm home early.”

“Fuck,” Tristan swore again.

“Not if that's how you're asking,” Isolde responded reflexively.

Percival groaned and put his forehead on the table.

“Posture,” Bors said absently.

“Last night was a thing,” Tristan tried to explain.

“We've told her,” Bors assured him.

“Where is everyone going to be today?” Isolde asked.

“Knowing Agrivane and Galehaut, at work,” Tristan started with the most predictable two, schedule-wise, “I'm assuming Lancelot and Galahad have a lot of catching up to do. Dinadan is almost always within a few blocks of his boat. Kay and Bedivere I have no idea. As for the rest of the Orkneys, your guess is as good as anyone else's.”

“It's Thursday so Gaheris has class,” Isolde knew everyone's schedule better than Tristan, “If Kay still gets up as early as he used to he and Bedivere could be halfway across the city by now.”

Bors and Percival made a noise of agreement.

“Oh!” Tristan's face lit up, “Mordred and Gareth are probably still at Lancelot and Galehaut's. They. Uh. They went right and down the steps.”

“Ouch,” Isolde winced in empathy, “Again?”

“How often does that happen?” Bors surprised himself with his concern.

“At least once a month,” Isolde sighed, “They've adapted to the memories well, but they're reckless as ever.”

“The memories,” Bors said slowly.

“They were awful, at first,” Isolde frowned, “For me, it took almost a month to adjust. I was on travel and alone.”

“A month is impressive,” Percival finally sat back up, “I think my settling process took me six months. It happened in fits and starts.”

“It might be good to ask everyone about it,” Tristan sat at the table then quickly stood again, “Oh, shit, right, can I help with anything.”

“Only need one at the stove,” Isolde assured him, “And maybe. It's...a touchy subject, in general, but if there's five more of us within a day and a half it'll be a good thing to establish any patterns, consistent experiences...anything really.”

Bors made an unhappy noise but nodded anyways. Percival watched Bors' cue, then nodded as well.

–

There were five commonly accepted senses, Mordred told himself, and even though more were being rapidly normalized as science progressed, the sense of doom that accompanied waking up on a staircase with one's head pointed downward was not one he had ever heard of.

Still, he hated how he knew it, and was often refamiliarized with it.

“Gareth,” Mordred forced himself to stay still, “Gareth, you here?”

It was always Gareth who slept on the steps with him.

“Unfortunately,” Gareth's voice was thick with sleep, “Why?”

“Why do I ask or why do we do this?” Mordred muttered as he slowly recollected himself and got to his feet.

“Both but don't answer,” Gareth waited until he couldn't hear Mordred moving to start to right himself.

“Hngh,” was all Mordred had for a reply.

Mordred steadied Gareth as the younger of them rose. Gareth leaned near his full weight on Mordred, who didn't budge.

“So uh,” Gareth's entire body was stiff and pained as he started heading up the stairs, “Was any of last night a dream?”

“I have exactly zero desired to know what you dream about,” Mordred informed him, “Perhaps even less than zero.”

“But Kay and Bedivere and Bors and Percival and Galahad are here,” Gareth ignored Mordred's biting tone, “and the deck was on fire?”

“Unless we've started to share dreams, yes,” Mordred sighed, “Come on, I have work this afternoon if I haven't slept through my shift.”

“Where's your phone?” Gareth asked as he reached the top of the stairs.

“Somewhere in the couch if it wasn't downed by wine,” Mordred winced, genuinely unsure about the state of both his job and his employment status.

“Agrivane's going to flip if you lose your job,” Gareth warned.

“I have three jobs and they all keep cutting hours,” Mordred complained, “Besides, at least I'm constantly employed.”

“I'm surprised he hasn't kicked Gawain out yet,” Gareth noted.

Neither brother was paying enough attention to realize they had an audience.

“The cruelest thing is there's three more steps from the living room to the kitchen,” Mordred grumbled as he started removing couch cushions, “Holy shit we did some damage.” Gareth joined him in his task.

“They're washable,” Lancelot told Galahad quietly, “The couch parts are, anyways.”

“Are they always this oblivious?” Galahad asked, his voice equally quiet.

“Only when they're inside,” Galehaut answered.

“Phone!” Gareth held the ting aloft, “Dead, but no traces of wine or other liquid.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Mordred snatched it, “Do you work today?”

“Client's still on vacation,” Gareth shook his head, “Though if he keeps taking vacations for a week at a time I'm going to take on a new one.”

“Eep,” Mordred winced, “That'll be...four? Five?”

“Five,” Gareth stretched, “Fuck knows there's plenty of startup CEO wannabes who love a remote personal assistant so they don't have to wait on someone to follow them around.”

“Gawain should take notes,” Mordred laughed.

“Gawain wouldn't last a day taking orders,” Gareth huffed, “Oh, shit, people, hi.”

“Shit, people,” Mordred echoed, “Uh.”

“It's ten fifteen, thereabouts,” Lancelot informed them, “You slept hard.”

“I regret things,” Mordred shuddered, “In general, but also specifically sleeping on the stairs again. Sorry.”

“I can tell you're exhausted because you're apologizing,” Lancelot commented, “Also, Agrivane's called five times asking if you two are still breathing.”

“He always panics when my phone's off,” Mordred shrugged.

“Gareth, where's your phone?” Galehaut asked.

“At the apartment,” Gareth answered, “It's half my work tools and I know how these things go.”

“Better than when you all first moved here,” Lancelot shook his head, “Agrivane took the car so you're going to have to calla ride or figure it out.”

“I have a few hours,” Mordred shrugged, “I'll get my phone charged and call a ride.”

“Kay and Bedivere are going to be here around noon,” Lancelot told them, “Dinadan, for some reason, has managed to talk them into letting him show them the city.”

“Christ,” Mordred breathed, disbelieving, “Dinadan couldn't follow a map if it held his hand and guided him.”

“Physically or digitally,” Lancelot agreed, “Now, off you two go, we're being strangely friendly and it's freaking me out.”

Mordred looked between the trip watching him from the railing that kept people from stumbling between the dining room and lowered living room and noticed how silent Galahad had been.

A flash of how poorly he was likely to react if – when – if? - he ever saw Arthur again ran white-hot through every nerve before curdling in his stomach.

Lancelot and Galahad never shared the level of animosity Mordred had shared with his father, but their relationship had never been friendly. Or familiar in the slightest.

“Today's the coffee shop,” Mordred didn't address Galahad but looked at him directly, “Tell Dinadan my shift's from two until six if he wants to terrorize anyone.”

“How kind,” Lancelot moved to shoo the brothers out, “Now go before Agrivane calls again.”

–

“Weird?” Gareth asked Mordred as soon as they were out of sight of the house.

“Everything about the last day was weird,” Mordred agreed, “Something's not right.”

“Nothing's right,” Gareth expected some anger to accompany the thought but found it lacking, 

“Nothing's been right since the dawn of humanity,” Mordred agreed, “but I meant specifically with Galahad.”

“If you're about to pick up your rivalry with him where you left it, I'm telling Agrivane to change the locks while you're at work,” Gaheris cautioned.

“He was everything I wasn't,” Mordred's words weren't entirely unkind, “but no, he's just. So. Subdued. Like he'd rather melt into the shadows than anything else.”

“You could try talking to him,” Gaheris suggested.

“That would be the sensible thing,” Mordred didn't quite agree with the suggestion.

“When have we ever done anything sensible,” Gaheris laughed.

–

“Oh!” Galehaut exclaimed, shattering the silence in the living room.

“What?” Lancelot startled.

“We could redo the hotel!” Galehaut's face was bright.

“You're going to have to give me a little more context than that,” Lancelot frowned.

“Dinadan was only featured because he revamped the boat,” Galehaut tried to explain, “If we can get picked up like that, we might be able to reach anyone who's, you know, still out there.”

Galahad's attention flickered between the two of them, curious.

“Dinadan got picked up because he's fucking nuts enough to dock a floating residence in 'Frisco,” Lancelot disagreed, “and then doubled-down on the questionable choices by renovating it while it was floating.”

“Okay but -” Galehaut tried to argue.

“Show me an actual plan that won't incur more cost than profit we'll be able to turn during the reno and we can talk about it,” Lancelot cut him off.

Satisfied, Galehaut settled back into the chair he'd been curled up in.

All removable couch parts were in the wash, so the couches sat neglected.

“Do you know where Bors and Percival are today?” Lancelot asked Galahad.

“With Isolde,” Galahad said with a shrug, “and maybe Tristan, I wasn't entirely clear on that.”

“Huh,” was all Galehaut said.

“She's back early,” Lancelot had a few more words, “Wonder how that went.”

“If they're texting she didn't break their fingers,” Galahad seemed unworried, “or otherwise maim them.”

“Uh,” Lancelot's throat clicked.

“I remember Isolde,” Galaahd said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “If _anyone_ could have taken one of us down in hand-to-hand combat, it would have been her or Morgan.”

“Fair point,” Lancelot conceded, “What were you three planning once you get here, anyways?”

“Find Dinadan,” Galahad finally made eye contact with Lancelot, “see if there was anyone else. We hadn't gotten much further.”

“Five so quickly,” Galehaut seemed as if he was only voicing parts of what he was thinking.

“Like when a field would flood,” Galahad voiced a few more words than Galehaut, proportionately, “A trickle then torrent.”

“A flood of knights,” Lancelot shook his head.

“A slightly less terrifying rendition of _It's Raining Men_ ,” Galahad noted, “So, what's the plan once everyone gets here tonight?”

“White wine instead of red,” Galehaut said at the same time Lancelot said, “There is no plan.”

Galahad, had never felt more like he'd finally come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how when you start rolling something down a hill it starts off kind of slow and then just picks up speed and picks up speed and picks up speed?
> 
> What I'm saying is the plot's going to pick up, I promise.


	5. Gawain Loves Lamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Predicability? Never heard of 'em.

Seven o'clock, Lancelot thought for what was probably the ninth time that night, was far too late to be convening on a work night.

As if he didn't set his own schedule.

Still, the fifteen people crammed into his living room - which would have been an absolute nightmare if he hadn't known these people when sword and King ruled both land and soul - were _here_ against all odds.

Galahad, Mordred, Dinadan, Gaheris, and Gawain were squeezed together on a cushionless couch meant to seat three while Tristan, Isolde, and Gawain sat on the other, equally bare, couch.

"Have you considered your washer is giving you problems because you keep putting entire cushions in it?" Agrivane asked.

"More than once," Galehaut answered from his lounge chair.

Kay and Bedivere were in what Lancelot already thought of as 'their corner.' Agrivane was perched on the dining room railing. Bors, Percival, Gareth, and Dinadan were standing, kind of wandering around the room.

Lancelot was sitting cross-legged at Galehaut's feet.

The quiet was such a contrast from the previous night that it unnerved the former champion.

"It didn't feel real last night," Kay said, and Lancelot wondered if he was reading his mind, "Not when we first arrived, anyways."

"Yeah," Galahad agreed, "I followed a trail here - turns out it was Lancelot's - but seeing the deck on fire really cemented the idea that this isn't some sleep-deprived hallucination or something."

"You okay?" Mordred looked at Galahad, who was pinned between Mordred's right hip and the arm of the couch.

"Haven't slept in close to three days," Galahad's voice was far away, "so probably not."

"Why?" Mordred squawked.

"Can't sleep on planes, kind of had a busy day and night and day again," Galahad explained.

Gareth grinned at Mordred, pleased to see his older brother taking his advice despite his objections.

"It's going to be strange," Kay commented, "having to figure out what to do from here."

"That's a conversation we need to have with each other first," Bedivere tilted his head back so it rested at the base of Kay's throat.

"Of course," Kay kissed the top of Bedivere's head and held him tighter. 

"How long have you two been together?" Bors asked.

"Since we were seventeen," Kay answered at the same time Bedivere said "Twenty-six years."

"You had your memories at seventeen?" Gawain's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, no," Bedivere laughed, "That came later."

"Later," Galehaut marveled, "That's…"

"Quite a bond," Gawain finished for him.

"The memories came back almost at the same time," Kay said, "As each other, I mean."

"And I lost my arm maybe seven months later," Bedivere added, "Like the universe decided that it just had to go."

"Please," Kay murmured into Bedivere's head and squeezed his waist tighter.

"Sorry," Bedivere apologized.

"What do you two do for a living?" Lancelot decided starting with something safer than the memory process was the best idea.

"Civil engineer," Bedivere pointed to himself, "and he caters." He nudged Kay with his head.

"I can't escape the kitchens," Kay laughed, "What do the rest of you do?"

"Odd jobs," Gawain shrugged.

"When you work," there was a bitterness to Agrivane's voice.

"Not my fault," Gawain was on his feet with his hands in a surrendering position.

As if following a cue, Gareth joined his brothers' bickering. 

Dinadan joined as well, and chaos erupted again.

"Some things haven't changed," Galahad said so quietly Mordred almost missed it.

"It's their one fight I won't get involved in," Mordred told him, "I work three jobs and Gawain hasn't been able to hold one since we all moved here. I am especially bitter about it."

"Sounds understandable," Galahad yawned, "Fuck, I could fall asleep where I sit despite all the yelling."

"I can wake you if it's important," Mordred offered. Galahad nodded.

He was asleep before Mordred could finish his breath.

Galahad's sleeping form flopped over so that he was leaning on Mordred instead of the couch.

"At least I didn't cause a building evacuation!" Gawain was trying to get Mordred involved in the bickering. 

Mordred made a displeased humph but didn't rise to the bait.

"Oh, man,, he's your problem now," Bors' voice rose above the din.

"He's my brother of course he's my problem!" Gawain dug deeper into his offensive position.

"I was talking to Mordred, not about him," Bors was amused, "He sleeps like the dead."

"Just means my spot on the couch is secure," Mordred shrugged. Galahad was jostled but didn't stir.

"Anyways, I'm a back end web developer," Agrivane said.

"I'm in college," Gaheris told everyone. 

"AirBnB host," Dinadan offered.

"Digital personal assistant," Gareth said.

"MMA coach," Bors offered.

"MMA fighter," Percival raised his hand for a moment.

"Sales," Isolde said, "and Tristan's a technical writer. Don't listen to him when he tells you it's not interesting."

"Oi!" Tristan pretended to be offended. Isolde laughed and nudged him with her shoulder.

"What do you sell?" Percival asked.

"Weapons," Isolde answered, "Legally, and to militaries directly."

"Huh," Gawain realized he had no idea.

Gawain kicked Agrivane in the shin because he could. Agrivane elbowed Gawain in the solar plexus.

"Take it outside," Galehaut told them.

"To the deck?" Lancelot looked up at Galehaut. 

"Eh," Galehaut shrugged, "it's only a one-story fall if they don't mind the missing railing."

Gawain and Agrivane glared at each other before marching out onto the deck and starting an honest fight.

\--

"Hold still you big baby," Isolde said as she cleaned the gash on Gawain's face where Agrivane's fist had split skin, "It's here or stitches."

"Still might be stitches," Dinadan commented.

"Not helping," Isolde sighed, "How did you not get any solid hits on Agrivane?"

"He fought like a man possessed," Gawain made the mistake of shaking his head, "I mean, we've fought like this as long as I can remember, but I'm usually faster than him."

"The sun was down," Percival pointed out.

"How many of you are in this bathroom??" Gawain couldn't see much.

Percival took a second to do a head count before he answered, "Six including you."

"Cozy," Gawain managed, "And the solar thing is, indeed, still a factor, but I've beaten him at night. This life and the other one."

"He'll calm down," Gaheris assures him, "He always does."

"I try not to count on always," Gawain muttered, "He wasn't himself last night at the bar either."

"It's all the changes," Gaheris sounded unworried, "Get yourself out in the sun tomorrow and it'll be like you never even got hit."

Gawain grumbled then hissed as Some rubbing alcohol dripped into the open wound.

\--

"I'm caught between congratulating you for being the first person to upstage Gawain in a fight this life and being horrified that you beat Gawain in a fight," Tristan told Agrivane as the other knight washed his hands for the fifth time.

"How does blood stay on skin so long?" Agrivane muttered, "And I would be lying if I said it wasn't immensely satisfying."

"It looked like you two only stopped because you were both shocked," Galehaut noted.

Everyone who wasn't in the bathroom with Gawain or trapped on the couch by a sleeping Galahad was watching Agrivane wash his hands.

"Mmn," Agrivane made what sounded like a noise of agreement.

""It's not like we don't all fight like this at the apartment," Gareth tried to sound unworried.

"Over things like sleeping on counters and whether or not poptarts are ravioli," Mordred called from the living room.

"Still a really, really weird question," Kay called back.

Isolde was the first in the kitchen with the rest of the knights on her heels.

"He doesn't need stitches," Isolde announced, "just some sunlight."

"Would a sun lamp work?" Galehaut offered.

"We can try," Gaeain blinked.

\--

"I AM UNSTOPPABLE!!" Gawain whooped.

Fifteen minutes under the sun lamp and there wasn't so much as a scar.

It made the amount of blood on his shirt even more concerning, but he was oblivious.

"Fascinating," Kay breathed.

"I cannot believe eighteen people just watched Gawain sit under a giant basement sunlamp," Percival shook his head as if he hadn't done just that.

"Fifteen," Kay corrected absently, "minus Gawain, then minus Mordred and Galahad."

"Who really does sleep like the dead," Gaheris noted.

"More immediate point," Kay's words were clipped, excited, "this means there are ways to get around magical limitations through technology."

"There are so many experiments to do!" Gawain fed off Kay's excitement.

"Oh no my poor house," Galehaut groaned.

"Proposition," Kay's voice was caught between formal and almost too excited, "We all take a few days to talk about what's going on, where we're headed, and so on, and reconvene on Tuesday night in a more formal capacity."

"And then break the laws of magic?" Gawain was just excited.

"I," Kay stammered, "Yes, sure, the formal _breaking the laws of magic_ can start on Tuesday. 

Gawain whooped and ran back upstairs. 

"Mo did you hear that?" He shouted as he ran. 

"What have you done?" Galehaut turned to Kay as if it wasn't his lamp.

"Fuck if I know," Kay shrugged, "Now come on before he starts testing your other lamps."


	6. Interlude: Last Minute Nerves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost time to change history. Reactions may vary.

"Again!" Gaheris called from where he was crouched on top of the fridge with a bucket of cheese chunks.

Gareth threw a cracker across Gaheris' field of vision. 

Gareth knocked it out of the air with one of the bits of cheese.

"Again!" Gaheris commanded.

"Don't you have an exam tomorrow?" Agrivane had been trying to watch a movie.

"Midterms aren't until the end of October," Gaheris was still yelling, "Again!" 

"I didn't say midterm," Agrivane yelled back.

"It's just a paper," Gaheris tried to dismiss his brother, "I'll get it done."

"Wait, you're not done?" Gareth paused in the middle of reaching for the next cracker.

"I'll be done before eleven fifty-nine tomorrow," Gaheris said effortlessly, "edited and everything."

"It's your grade," Gareth told him as he threw the next cracker.

\--

Kay had tried to get up early Monday morning to go for a jog to get his head as clear as possible. 

Bedivere had felt him move and locked his arm around Kay's waist.

"Just a quick jog," Kay tried to promise. 

"This is our last day pretending to be normal people," Bedivere's face was still buried in his pillow, "Stay."

Kay didn't need much convincing, either to rejoin the round table or to stay when Bedivere asked.

\--

Galehaut, Galahad, and Mordred watched as Lancelot prepared several types of cookie dough simultaneously. 

"This is new," Galehaut commented.

"He's going down the ingredient list and measuring them out but.. also not," Mordred tried to figure out the underlying method.

"Looks like it's all the flour, then all the sugar, then all the eggs, and so on," Galahad understood where he got his anxious behaviors with sudden clarity, "I'd put money down he winds up doing something like putting pecan pieces in the oatmeal raisin mixing bowl towards the end."

"You don't strike me as a betting man," Mordred commented.

"Everyone's full of surprises," Galahad shrugged.

"Have you decided?" Galehaut asked.

"As if I'd leave when the court is just starting to reconvene," Galahad rolled his eyes, "no matter who else is out there, who else and what else is coming, the first few months are going to be the most important."

Mordred had spent the weekend at Galehaut and Lancelot's trying to learn how to strategize, a skill he had not managed to pick up the first life and sure wasn't going to learn from his brothers others this life.

All he'd learned was Lancelot was far more stressed than previously assumed and renovating a hotel took more planning than he thought was reasonable.

Agrivane, at least, hadn't called him or Lancelot all weekend.

"Should we offer to help?" Galahad asked.

"Oh god no," Galehaut laughed.

\--

Monday was hell for Agrivane. For one, annual leave requests needed to be filed at least three work days in advance so despite filing first thing Friday morning he wasn't able to get Tuesday off.

Then the copier next to his desk caught fire and he couldn't even blame one of his brothers.

Then every single project he'd been conscripted into went sideways.

"Fuckit," he slammed his hands down on his desk and stood up, "I'm out, good luck."

He left his ID badge on his desk, gathered his phone, charger, passport, and mug into his backpack, and left. 

He called Lancelot as soon as he made it outside.

"Lancelot's phone," Galehaut answered. 

"Is my brother there?" Agrivane asked.

"Mordred," Galehaut handed him the phone

"What?" Mordred almost snapped.

"I walked out of my job," Agrivane said as if Mordred had asked him what the expected high temperature of the day was.

"Isn't that job your main tether to the states?" Mordred was starting to worry.

"I can't deal with this," Agrivane wasn't sure what this was.

Galehaut took the phone back. "You'll need a sponsor."

"Not thinking," Agrivane said. Galehaut believed that statement in its entirety.

"When will you be over?" Galehaut sighed. 

"No idea," Agrivane muttered, "but thanks."

Galehaut looked at the call ended screen as it flashed a few times before going black.

"Ah crap," Mordred grimaced, "I know where he'll be. I need to go sort him out."

"Be careful," Galehaut cautioned. 

"He's my _brother_ ," Mordred emphasized the last word, "We can resume fighting like we're going to kill each other one day once he gets his head on right again."

Galahad and Galehaut watched Mordred leave.

"We could sponsor him," Lancelot suggested.

"He'd have to work for the hotel," Galehaut sounded amused despite the gravity of the situation. 

"I know," Lancelot shrugged as he combed through the cupboard, "but we _can_ sponsor him. Or anyone else how needs it, really, as long as we can find a job they're not going to wind up hating themselves over."

"Oddly specific," Galahad commented.

"But important," Lancelot inhaled sharply as he reached into the very back of the second tallest shelf, "Any renovation plans yet?"

"No," Galehaut admitted, "I'm a bit too caught up with, well…"

"Cheating magic," Lancelot shook his head. He produced a bag of butterscotch chips and tossed them to the far end of the counter, "First thing I'm doing is figuring out if I can fire proof the walls."

"Probably should have done that years ago. Magically or not," Galehaut was close to complaining. 

"It's all a lot," Galahad sat down at the kitchen table.

He hadn't seen Bors and Percival since Saturday evening. Galahad wanted time with his father and his father's husband. Bors was restless and Percival felt like he was intruding, so they disappeared on a three day hike.

He looked at the clock - 2:53 in the evening.

"Twenty-eight hours and seven minutes," Galahad said aloud.

"Then we shit in the face of the natural order of things," Galehaut left the other two with a mental image they would never forget.


	7. Fire, Ice, and Other Assorted Nonsense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets, secrets, are...well, theg can be fun but so can setting things on fire.

"Ready?" Kay asked everyone else.

"We already know how to cheat mine," Gawain shrugged.

"I'll pass," Lancelot held up his hands, "but Kay, Galahad, go for it."

"You don't want to learn how to sidestep your restrictions?" Kay almost blanched, "Why??"

"Mine aren't like either of yours," Lancelot answered, "well, any of yours. All three of you?"

"Not an answer," Kay frowned, "but your call."

"Kay wait," Galehaut was looking at Lancelot, "We have a washing machine you can use as target practice."

\--

Fire.

Freeze.

Fire.

Freeze.

Fire.  
Freeze.

Fire. Freeze.

Fire. Freeze. Fire. Freeze.

Fire-freeze-fire-freeze.

"Kay," Bedivere's voice snapped Kay out of his alternating magic streams, "Kay sweetheart you've flooded the basement."

Kay blinked a few times as if snapping out of a trance.

The poor washing machine hadn't stood a chance.

"Think you can heat the water until it turns to steam?" Galahad asked.

Everyone else had long since gone outside.

"Yeah," Kay was starting to feel the energy it had taken to _do that,_ "Either of you see a window?"

"No," Galahad looked around, "I can open the back door and we can hope. It's almost a straight shot from the basement steps."

"Do you have any wind magic?" Bedivere asked as he started heading up the stairs, "because otherwise we're looking at a steam-filled main level."

"Crap," Galahad started following him out, "Eh, time to find out. Kay, count to fifteen and start."

Bedivere took off at a run, fully aware of how fast Kay counted.

\--

"Fuck," Morgan threw her talisman across the room, "damn them all."

"I think Gaheris hasn't pissed you off before," Viviane said absently from where she was curled up on the papasan, reading, "What did they do this time?"

"You don't FEEL the disturbances??" Morgan exclaimed.

"That's THEM?" Viviane was on her feet, "I thought it was one of the demigods getting titchy about not being as powerful as their parents again."

"I wish," Morgan frowned in the direction her Talisman landed, "Smoke says it's mostly Kay and...Galahad?"

"Huh," was all Viviane had to say.

"We're going to have to step in if they keep this up," Morgan told her.

"Not until everyone is there," Viviane sat on the edge of the papasan, "Believe me, I hate this as much as you do."

"Probably more than I do," Morgan's anger and fear were beginning to subside.

"They have no idea what's coming," Viane crossed her arms in a way that looked more like she had hugged herself. 

"I think they know," Morgan said, "Not the way they know, but there's an energy about them this time they didn't have before."

Viviane nodded, more eager for the day the reborn knights got to Know.

\--

The neighbors had called the fire department.

"Go," Galehaut hissed at everyone else, "Almost half of you aren't even here legally. You cannot afford to be accused of arson."

Lancelot, while Galehaut was addressing everyone else, slipped out front to where three fire trucks pulled up nearly simultaneously. 

"Lance?" Galehaut whipped around, "Shit."

Despite Galehaut's warnings, everyone ran after him when he ran where he thought Lancelot had gone.

The fire trucks were pulling away, sirens off.

"What?" Galehaut stopped in his tracks. 

"Misunderstanding," Lancelot's voice was tight. 

"Ohhoho," Galehaut's eyes were wide, "Alright you lot, inside, inside."

No one argued, or even asked any questions.

"Lancelot," Galehaut said when it was just the two of them.

"Yes," Lancelot turned around slowly.

"That wasn't a misunderstanding was it?" Galehaut had his hands in his pockets.

Lancelot shook his head no.

\--

"The washer is," Bedivere chewed at the inside of his cheek, "I don't think there's a president for what a washing machine is exposed to, well, what you did."

"The walls aren't fire damaged," Tristan ran his hand along the wall behind the washer, "but there's definitely water damage."

"Are they still outside?" Galahad asked, "I'm going to go check."

"Holy fuck," Kay looked over the aftermath, "I did that."

"Next experiment is going to have to be on a large concrete lot in the middle of nowhere," Gareth proposed.

"That was both terrifying and impressive," Dinadan meant it as a compliment.

"I don't know how I feel about this," Kay was still staring at the remains of the washing machine.

Bedivere wrapped both arms around Kay's waist and pressed his cheek between Kay's shoulder blades, acting as an anchor.

Everyone stood there, unsure what do do, for several minutes before Galahad bounded back down the steps with Lancelot and Galehaut not far befine him.

"Galahad, how are you feeling?" Mordred asked. Gareth let out a fairly quiet snort and kicked Mordred in the ankle. Mordred kicked back. "And how did you direct the steam like that?"

"Turns out I can direct other people's magic," Galahad explained, "and it's after-effects."

"That's handy," Isolde also meant it as a compliment.

"So Lancelot, was that mind control?" Gaheris asked, oblivious to the terror etched into the lines of Lancelot's face. 

"Mind control?" Gawain echoed, fear so obvious Lancelot flinched.

Agrivane put a hand over his brother's mouth. 

Gawain bit him. 

Agrivane made a pained sound but held firm. So did Gawain.

"If he was going to use it on any of us do you think you lot would break so much of his stuff?" Agrivane asked through gritted teeth.

Gawain let go.

So did Agrivane.

"Fucking hell dude," Agrivane flicked his hand a few times, "Not necessary."

"Agrivane, you're bleeding," Lancelot told him. Agrivane stopped and looked and sure enough, there was a perfect imprint of the tops of Gawain's teeth filled with blood.

"Goddamnit dude," Agrivanr hissed and headed upstairs. 

Mordred sighed and followed Agrivane.

"Tell me what I miss?" Mordred asked Galahad as he started walking up the steps.

"Of course," Galahad answered absently.

\--

Mordred caught up with Agrivane in the half-bath just off the foyer. The door was open, so Mordred didn't bother announcing his presence.

"Want me to get the first aid kit?" Mordred asked before otherwise announcing his presence.

"Twice in a week," Agrivane hissed, carefully washing the wound with hand soap, "though I don't have his healing abilities."

"You two have been at it worse than usual since the night the Grail trio showed up," Mordred frowned.

"No to the first aid kit," Agrivane said as an afterthought, "It's not a deep bite so air will probably do it good."

Mordred nodded. He watched Agrivane finish washing the wound before he asked, "Did something happen?"

"This whole mess happened," Agrivane closed the toilet lid and sat down, "He doesn't know I quit yet."

"Shit," Mordred hissed.

"Yeah," Agrivane had both elbows on his knees. His injured palm was face up and shaking uncontrollably. 

Mordred sighed, held up one finger, slipped out of the bathroom, and returned a moment later with a tube of antibiotic cream.

"Let me," Mordred said as he removed the cap. Agrivane nodded and hissed when the cream hit the open wounds, but otherwise was silent.

\--

"I didn't," Gawain said far too late for Agrovane to hear him, "Shit." He felt rooted to the spot. 

"What was that about?" Dinadan's normal mirth was gone.

"I don't know," Gawain admitted.

"It was mind control," Lancelot said, "and Agrivane was right."

"At least your initial refusal makes sense," Galahad sat on the third lowest step, "though I agree with the remote location and a swatch of concrete idea for the rest of us."

"I would have said yes," Bedivere addressed Lancelot. 

"You," Lancelot stammered, "you what?"

"I would have said yes," Bedivere repeated "I trust you."

Lancelot opened and closed his mouth a few times but no sound came out.

"Same," Dinadan offered.

Lancelot told himself he wasn't going to cry.

"Same," Galehaut said.

Lancelot lied to himself.

Galehaut held Lancelot close, pressing kisses onto the base of his neck.

"I _trust_ you," Bedivere emphasized, "Especially with all you're doing for all of us this life."

"Let's all take an hour or so," Bors suggested, "Clear our heads a bit. Reconvene and figure out what skills we have at our disposal insofar as what we can use for...whatever we're all finding ourselves here for. Magical and mundane alike."

"Seconded," Tristan agreed.

A murmur of agreement rippled around the basement.

\--

"Hey," Dinadan leaned across the McDonald's table to speak as quietly as he could while still allowing Bors, Percival, Tristan, and Isolde to hear him, "do you think tonight could get any weirder?"

"If you're asking, absolutely," Isolde's reply was almost instant, "Why?"

Dinadan looked pointedly across the dining area to a man eating with only his luggage for company and an exhausted look on his face, both eyes and mind completely unfocused.

Bors was on his feet and crossing the dining area before anyone else noticed he had moved

Bors clapped the stranger on the back with as much enthusiasm he had in him. The stranger was on his feet with his fists raised almost instantly, eyes suddenly sharp. 

Bors stepped back with a surprising amount of grace, laughing.

"Bors?" Fists were lowered.

"Good to see you, Lamorak," Bors reached out to grab the other knight's shoulder.

"Well fuck me," Isolde said at normal volume. 

"Yeah okay but not in the ball pit," Tristan said absently, staring at Bors and Lamorak.

"Oh my god," Dinadan said equally absently, "both to that and to exactly how much of a shitshow is going to erupt."


	8. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lamorak's ready to go down swinging. Mordred isn't. Agrivane really just needs a hug. Kay just likes fire.

“So,” Lamorak felt entirely too crowded in the back seat of Dinadan's car, pressed in with Isolde, Bors, and Percival, “what's going on?”

“Well,” Dinadan's ringers drummed on the steering wheel, “first of all, not a big fan of traffic laws.”

“Yes, I gathered by all the weaving and running stop signs,” Lamorak was already exasperated, “I meant, who's back? What's the general status of things?”

“There's fifteen of us in total,” Dinadan didn't answer him directly.

“Left, left!” Tristan had lost a game of rock-paper-scissors and was acting as Dinadan's navigator.

Dinadan took a hard left – at least one wheel left the ground – and the scent of burning rubbed hit everyone's nose briefly.

“It's,” Dinadan searched for the words, “I have one word – clusterfuck – but if you're asking for many words it's going to be better if you see for yourself.”

_Lamorak had agreed to come with them – he'd been hitting every major city in the world one by one trying to assure himself he wasn't alone – but while he'd run to the bathroom Dinadan reminded Bors, Percival, Tristan, and Isolde that both he and Lamorak had met their end their first life at the hands of the Orkney brothers._

_“You made up with them,” Tristan tried to sound hopeful._

_“I,” Dinadan had pointed to himself, “hold a grudge for ten minutes, tops.”_

_“He was not as forgiving,” Bors grimaced._

_“Try not to give a name list,” Dinadan cautioned everyone else, “until we get him in the house.”_

Dinadan was going to keep to his own advice, but it was getting more difficult with each question.

“How long?” Lamorak asked, “How long have you all been back in contact with each other?”

“Depending on who,” Dinadan took a sharp right, “but seems to be between a few days and twenty-six years as far as reunions go.”

Lamorak whistled, impressed.

“You turned too early,” Tristan's attention flitted between the road ahead of them and where Dinadan had turned from.

“Ah fuck,” Dinadan slammed on the breaks as he turned the car around.

“I hate this,” Percival informed him.

“You can drive next time,” Dinadan offered.

“You could have mentioned that earlier,” Percival muttered. Bors chuckled and offered Percival a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

–

Mordred was kneeling in front of Agrivane as he had been for nearly an hour, keeping an even pressure with the newest bunch of paper towels.

“You sure you don't need stitches?” Mordred asked.

“I mean, I was sure,” Agrivane's hand was still bleeding, still trembling, “but now it's a bit too late, I think.”

“The blood is slowing down a bit,” Mordred checked the bottom of the wad of paper before reapplying pressure, “might have slowed down sooner if you'd've let me do this.”

“You have literally never helped me after a fight or other injury before,” Agrivane reminded him.

“Lot and mom kind of trained helping each other out of us, didn't they,” Mordred said with a humorless, single-syllable laugh.

“Among other things,” Agrivane said by way of agreement.

“What was Lot like,” Mordred heard himself asking, “before mom went off the rails like she did.”

“Mom was always off the rails,” Agrivane frowned. He noticed his other appendages had started to tremble, too, but he blamed blood loss, “When Gawain and I were younger, she'd tell dad – Lot – to make sure we were ready to become Knights as soon as we became men. Dad took that to mean _beat the children and yell at them if they flinch_ and if we made a noise he'd start all over again.”

“That's,” Mordred's jaw went slack.

“It worked on Gawain,” Agrivane continued, “I, on the other hand, was a coward destined never to be a fighter for flinching, for backing down first. And the worst thing was, he'd stop for the other one of us once someone backed down. I thought I was doing Gawain a favor, at first, but it became clear fast that backing down was just making him strike me harder than Gawain.”

“...fucked up,” Mordred finished.

“You,” Agrivane tried to meet Mordred's eyes, “you were supposed to be dead, and when Gareth was born mom had been wrecked with grief for years. She made it clear if dad so much as laid a hand on Gareth she'd have him dethrones and instill Gawain...who had long gone to Camelot.”

“I forget, sometimes, how many years apart we all were,” Mordred frowned, “You and Gareth were, what, almost a decade apart?”

“Thereabouts,” Agrivane was too exhausted to try to remember at that exact moment, “Gawain was maybe five or six years older than me. Gaheris was three years younger than Gareth.”

Mordred tossed the paper towels he was holding and grabbed another bunch from the roll someone – he hadn't seen who – had dropped off earlier.

“Christ,” Agrivane let his shoulders drop, “it looks like the bleeding's almost stopped. I can hold them, really.”

“But you don't have to,” Mordred had seen the effect kindness had on Lancelot, on Kay, and was learning it as if it was a foreign language.

Agrivane made an unhappy sound. “You stay here and I might just start rambling.” He'd meant it as a warning, but it sounded more like a request.

Mordred didn't move.

–

“So uh,” Kay kicked at the ruined section of the deck, “Sorry.”

“It's alright,” Lancelot sighed, “Still not as bad as some of the things the brothers have done.”

“I flooded your basement,” Kay couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“Gareth once threw Gawain through a wall,” Lancelot told Kay, “Not into, through.”

_”What??_ Kay laughed, “And _how?_ Gareth's so much smaller and not the Solar Knight.”

“Gawain didn't regain access to his Solar Knight powers until he had been here for a few months,” Lancelot sighed, “And well. You've seen how they act towards each other.”

“That sort of casual violence only comes from one thing,” Kay frowned as he kicked some of the ruined railing down with the ball of his show.

“Really shitty parenting,” Lancelot guessed. When Kay nodded, Lancelot added, “I'd say whatever Morgause and Lot did to them made me feel like a better father than I was to Galahad, but using a broken measuring stick isn't going to help anyone.”

Kay made a sound that crossed from unhappy to upset.

“If Arthur is going to come back,” Kay looked around to make sure they were alone, “how do you think Mordred is going to take it?”

“Poorly at best,” Lancelot answered a little too quickly, “How are _you_ going to take it?”

“I've had a lot of time to think about it,” Kay answered, “so hopefully well.”

“Hmn,” Lancelot joined Kay in kicking down the railing, “The hotel was built with a hope that it would do exactly what it's doing. I hadn't considered how many old wounds, grudges, and traumas would come along as well.”

“No one's ever ready for anything they do,” Kay put some extra force behind a particularly stubborn piece of railing, “or anything that comes.”

“You're different, this time,” Lancelot told him, “Calmer.”

“Turns out spending over two and a half decades with Bedivere has done wonderful things for my temper,” Kay smiled, “And I could say the same for you.”

“It _is_ amazing what a stable, healthy relationship does for the soul,” Lancelot agreed, “It's when the time comes to start talking about how we all regained our memories I fear we're really going to learn how deep old wounds run.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Kay stopped kicking.

“Bad?” Lancelot kept kicking.

“Not tonight,” Kay requested. Lancelot nodded.

“At least help me get the rest of the railing down, yeah?” Lancelot asked.

“With force or with fire?” Kay wasn't serious.

Lancelot stopped kicking and took a few steps back. “Let's see who notices.”

–

“Why is everyone screaming?” Agrivane didn't move to try to look.

Mordred strained to try to filter out anything from the overlapping screams and shouts. Most of them sounded excited, at least.

“Kay's set the deck on fire again,” Gareth stuck his head in the bathroom, “I'm going to go watch.”

He was gone quicker than he'd appeared.

“Goddamn,” Mordred sounded slightly impressed, “But yes, sorry, you were saying?”

“Just that I feel done,” Agrivane bit the inside of his lower lip, “Not just with work, but with...everything. The memories, the fear of losing the apartment, the constantly having to panic one of you is going to go hungry because I fucked something up.”

Agrivane took a deep breath to try to steady himself. It came out ragged, as if it was the only thing left between him and shattering.

“How done are you?” Mordred tried an indirect approach first.

“I don't know,” Agrivane's voice was so quite the screaming from the deck almost drowned it out.

“Are you suicidal and if you are, do you have a plan?” Mordred asked more directly. He'd heard once, somewhere, that was the right question to ask if you were worried about someone.

“What?” Agrivane blinked a few times, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, “No, and no. I'm just.” He looked at Mordred and then looks down at his hands, “I did nothing right the first time and feel like I'm not doing anything right the second time. And now I don't have a visa sponsor. And my name is the only one on the apartment lease”

Mordred squeezed Agrivane's hand through the paper towels and didn't let go.

“You're stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Mordred told Agrivane, who made a small noise of disbelief.

The sound of the door opening stopped their conversation in its tracks.

“Kay's set the deck on fire and everyone's out watching,” Mordred didn't look at the McDonald's crew.

“Cool, we brought a friend,” Percival said, “Also, I am never getting in the car if Dinadan's driving again.”

“But did you die?” Dinadan's voice came from a little further away, “Why aren't you out there with them?”

“Is that Mordred?” Lamorak pushed past Dinadan to see, “Oh.”

There were maybe ten seconds at most where Lamorak stood just outside the open bathroom door, frozen, expression going from overwhelmed to surprised to furious to murderous.

“You,” Lamorak pointed somewhere between Mordred and Agrivane, his voice was cold steel, ready to strike, “Had they told me you were here I wouldn't have come at all.”

“Come on,” Dinadan tried to guide Lamorak towards the deck, “We can do this later, for now we have a fire to go watch.”

“I don't,” Lamorak refused to budge, “I have a fight to finish.”

“Pretty sure the fight ended with your death,” Dinadan tried to physically push Lamorak down the hallway.

“Well I am very not dead now,” Lamorak still didn't budge.

“Lamorak,” Bors put a hand on Lamorak's shoulder, “read the room.”

Lamorak broke his glare and faced Bors for a moment. “You will not,” Lamorak shook Bors' hand off, “And you,” he turned back around to the two Orkney brothers in the bathroom, “You fucking _cowards_.”

Mordred squeezed Agrivane's hand even tighter before releasing it. He stood up slowly, rotating so he was facing Lamorak directly when he was at his full height.

Dinadan, Tristan, and Bors exchanged a Look and skittered towards the deck along with Isolde and Percival.

“Then take a swing,” Mordred's calm betrayed his rage, “Take a fucking swing if you're that desperate to carry old wrongs over to an entirely different world.”

Lamorak didn't hesitate to pull a fish back, high above his shoulder.

Mordred felt himself getting shoved to the side.

Agrivane took Lamorak down with a headbutt to the sternum, both men toppling over. Lamorak's back hit a corner and Agrivane rolled off to the side.

“Don't touch him,” Agrivane growled as he staggered to his feet.

“Fine,” Lamorak was on his feet faster, ready to strike again. 

What Agrivane lacked in speed he made up for in his ability to dodge roll. 

“Guys!” Mordred called in the general direction of the deck, “And Isolde, we have a problem!”

No footsteps.

If the others hadn't gone to get help, what _had_ they gone for?

Lamorak whirled to follow Agrivane, kicking out. His boot was set to collide with Agrivane's ribs.

“NO!” Mordred shouted.

For a second, he thought time stood still.

Whatever happened, I was just enough time to grab Lamorak by the shoulder and pull him back.

Lamorak stumbled, off-balance. Mordred used the momentum to bring the larger man crashing to the ground.

Finally, a rush of footsteps.

“Hold him,” Kay's voice cut through everything, “Don't grab any joints.”

Lamorak found several sets of hands pinning him to the ground.

Agrivane was in a crouch, back to everyone else. Mordred crouched down next to Agrivane and and linked one of his arms with Agrivane's.

“Thank you,” Mordred said quietly. He helped his elder brother stand and then said louder, “We'll be our front.”

The door had never been shut, so the pair disappeared in a matter of heartbeats.

“What the fuck?” Lancelot's tone held no room for argument.

“He seemed overly eager to carry over a grudge,” Dinadan's voice was so bitter it went almost unrecognized, “and those two were closest.”

Lamorak tried to start shouting again, but Galahad had found the roll of clean paper towels. He tore some off and shoved them in Lamorak's open mouth.

“Hush,” Galahad told him before he, too, slipped out the front door.

“Kid's got spark,” Galehaut watched as Galahad shut the door behind him.

Lamorak managed to remove the paper towels with a combination of spitting and pushing.

“One word trying to defend your violent outburst and you'll spend a week thinking you actually enjoy eating all your food cold,” Lancelot threatened.

“He could do it, too,” Kay added, knowing Lancelot _could_ but unsure if Lancelot _would_.

“Like none of you tried to seek revenge,” Lamorak ignored the warning.

“Actually, no,” Dinadan told him, “and they killed me maybe a few months after you, so I really don't want to hear about it.”

“Yeah, nah,” Gareth said, “All of us get on with Lancelot.”

The fight left Lamorak.

“What,” Lamorak found words difficult all the sudden, “what on earth happened after I died?”

“Let him up,” Kay said, “and everyone move to the living room.”

Bedivere knew he was the only one who had lived out Camelot's story until its end. He sighed and prepared himself for telling his least favorite story.

–

Galahad found Mordred and Agrivane sitting between Kay's rental car and the garage door, their backs leaning against the door.

“No,” Mordred called before he was who was approaching.

“Just me,” Galahad said.

A pause, then, “Okay.”

Galahad's steps were silent things as he came up to them. He sat down next to Mordred.

Agrivane had his knees brought up as close to his chest as he could manage and his face in his hands. Ragged, pained breaths and sobs mixed together so silently they were almost silent. Mordred was frowning, a thing well beyond worry. His legs were crossed and his hands tugged at loose threads on the cuffs of his jeans, unraveling them.

Galahad sat with them, silent, his knee and Mordred's barely touching. Galahad fiddled with the end of the leather cord that kept his bracelet fastened.

“What's it?” Mordred tugged at the bracelet.

“Medical alert,” Galahad said, “I fainted, once, at one of Percival's tournament fights and Bors insisted I wear it. All it says is 'fall risk' and has Bors' information as my emergency contact.”

Mordred stopped tugging at it.

“Goddamn,” Mordred said under his breath. Galahad shrugged.

“Why'd you come?” Agrivane managed.

“I care,” Galahad told him.

Something about that broke Agrivane. The noise he made barely registered as human.

–

“Fuck,” was all Lamorak could say when Bedivere finished the story.

“Clusterfuck,” Dinadan used his earlier descriptor.

“I'm an asshole,” Lamorak decided.

“All of us were, the first time,” Tristan said, “Except, like, Percival and Galahad. And most of the time Bedivere.”

“Thanks?” Bedivere asked instead of said.

Bedivere and Kay were in their corner, Kay's arms so firmly around Bedivere's waist he couldn't even turn around to bury his head in Kay's chest to take a mental break. He tapped Kay's arm once and Kay loosened his grip, then tightened it again when Bedivere settled in.

“I need to apologize,” Lamorak ran his fingers through his hair.

“Maybe wait until they all come back in, yeah?” Galehaut suggested.

Lamorak shifted, uncomfortable, but did not move from where he was sitting.

–

Agrivane had calmed down enough to tell Galahad what happened after Gawain bit him.

“His kick should have landed in my ribs,” Agrivane finished with.

“About that,” Mordred ducked his head, “It looked – felt – looked like time stopped for a moment. Just enough to step forward and pull him back.”

“What if it did?” Galahad asked.

“That would require magic,” Mordred blinked, “and this isn't about me.”

“When we go back in I'll be able to tell you if there was any magic,” Galahad shrugged.

“I don't know what I'm going to do,” Agrivane told the younger two, “I wasn't thinking and now,” he paused, “What if we lose everything?”

“You have us,” Galahad told him, “I know my father can be a pushover but do you honestly think he'd be so _friendly_ towards you and your brothers if he didn't care?”

Agrivane couldn't find an argument for that one.

“Galehaut has no tolerance for those he doesn't care about,” Mordred added.

“I'm trying not to burden anyone,” Agrivane scrubbed his hands over his face a few times.

“In that case I'm sure they could use some help with their web presence,” Galahad suggested, “I haven't looked but it's probably...in need of some help.”

“I never thought to look,” Agrivane managed something resembling a laugh, “I...I just need to stay out here for a bit.”

“Want us to stay?” Mordred asked before he realized he'd assume Galahad would stay as long as he needed to.”

“As long as you're not cold,” Agrivane didn't say yes or no.

–

“Okay,” Agrivane said after what felt like close to an hour of the three of them sitting in silence, “I think I can go back in. Or at least try.”

They rose slowly, legs stiff from the stillness and the late September chill. It was, by Galaahd's best estimate, around midnight.

No sooner than they all got to their feet were they blinded by a pair of headlight pulling behind all the cars in the driveway.

The delivery driver didn't notice them until after he was out of his car and heading towards the front steps.

“Oh, sweet, Thai!” Mordred exclaimed. He hopped up on the hood of the car and then to the next car and then to the space just in front of the driver, “I'll take that, thanks.” It looked like enough food for everyone and then some.

The driver, too shocked to move or say anything, found himself without the bags of food he had been trying to deliver. Mordred bounded inside.

“Do, uh,” Galahad wasn't sure if he should laugh, “do I need to sign anything?”

“Yeah, please,” the driver blinked a few times before handing Galahad a pen and receipt.

Galahad glanced at the name and – upon realizing he didn't recognize the name so it had to be Lamorak's – entered a tip twice as much as the order total.

“Thanks,” the driver, now even more stunned, left without asking questions.

Agrivane had seen Galahad's tip amount and asked just before they went inside why he did that.

“Lamorak's undoubtedly going to feel guilty, either later tonight or in the next few days,” Galahad said as they went up the steps, “and everything and everyone is so caught up in whatever _this_ is that forgiveness is plentiful. But a two hundred and ten percent tip? That he's going to remember for a long, long, time.”

Agrivane laughed for what felt like the first time in his life.

–

“Was there anything to sign?” Lamorak asked.

“I took care of it,” Galahad assured him.

Lamorak was hunched in on himself, seated on the floor with his shoulders resting on the back door.

“Looks like chicken,” Mordred peeked into a box, “Cashews and peppers?”

“Mine,” Dinadan raised his hand.

“I took care of your orders,” Gawain said, “Well, Mo and Agrivane, yours.”

“I took care of yours, Galahad,” Percival added.

“I think we're all stress eating,” Tristan said as he started helping Mordred hand out food.

“Oh, right, give me a sec!” Galahad exclaimed before running back towards the door.

“What was that about?” Kay watched him run.

“Right,” Mordred grimaced and froze.

A stillness took hold of the living room while they waited for Galahad to return.

He ran back as well.

“Magic!” Galahad exclaimed, “Mo, you can do magic and it looks like it _is_ chronomancy!”

“Forgive me if I'm a little less excited than you,” Mordred's face paled. Galahad tampered his excitement and guided Mordred to the single empty seat on the couch before sitting on the floor with his back to Mordred's legs.

“What?” someone asked, the question too strained for the voice to be recognizable.

“What they said,” Mordred's voice was strained.

“Uh,” Tristan pulled the next order out of the bag, “Pad thai with shrimp?”

“Mine,” Bors said, “Chronomancy?”

“I panicked,” Mordred wasn't sure what he made of it, “I saw the kick and thought it was going to break Agrivane's ribs and I _panicked_.”

“That's how magic gets unlocked sometimes,” Bors was talking to Mordred but looking at Galahad, “Now, it's already been a long, long day on top of several long days before it, so for the latest dinner I have had since my university days, I am going to **strongly suggest** easy conversation.”

Nobody had any objections.

–

“Again!” Gaharis said as soon as he failed to catch the last piece of chicken Gareth threw at him.

Lancelot stood at the top of the living room steps, leaning on a mop, amused.

“Ah fuck,” Gaheris missed again, “Again!”

“Have you considered the problem might be in the thrower?” Percival asked.

“You try,” Gareth held out the take-out lid of small, ripped up chicken bits. Percival shrugged and leaned over to grab one.

“Ready?” Percival asked.

“Go!” Gaheris said and then opened his mouth and tilted his head back, waiting.

Percival didn't miss. Gaheris almost choked.

“Holy shit,” Gareth almost dropped the lid, “he's never caught one before.”

“Thrower's problem,” Percival's voice was sing-song.

Kay and Bedivere looked on, waiting to see if Gaheris needed any medical attention.

Besides them, it was just Gawain, Agrivane, Mordred, Galahad, and Lamorak left in the living room. Everyone else had gone home or crawled into the more formal dining area to sleep.

Bors, for reasons no one could quite understand, was asleep on the dining table.

“Do they know you have bedrooms?” Galahad asked Lancelot.

“In theory,” Lancelot shrugged, “In practice I think they just hate stairs.”

Gaheris thunked the side of his fest against his chest a few times, cleared his throat, shook himself, and said, “Okay, again, I think I know what I did wrong.”

“Oh my god,” Kay grumbled.

“We were young and dumb as hell once, too,” Bedivere was still pressed against Kay.

“Fair,” Kay relented.

“Wait, you have bed _rooms_?” Mordred asked, “As in, plural?”

Lancelot nodded, only partly aware Mordred was facing away from him.

“What the hell have I been sleeping on the stairs for?” Mordred was only disappointed with himself.

“You can't hold your wine,” Gareth informed him, “Perc, wanna see what happens if we both throw one?”

“I hit any you miss,” Percival shrugged, “On three. One.”

“Two,” Gareth narrowed his eyes and focused.

“Three!” they said together.

Percival's piece made it, but Gareth's his Gaheris on the chin.

“It's your follow-through,” Percival told Gareth, “Here, watch closely. Gaheris, whenever you're ready.”

“Ready!” Gaheris said almost instantly.

Percival's hand stopped thee instant he let go.

Another success.

“When you follow through like you do the trajectory loses its arc,” Percival explained, “It's less _throwing_ and more _dropping with a little bit of force._ ”

“Huh,” Gareth tilted his head to the side.

“Fuck,” Mordred checked the time on his phone, “I have to open.”

“Which job,” Agrivane was dozing off in Galehaut's chair, his legs tucked under him and both knees resting on one of the arms.

“The second hand bookshop,” Mordred made a move to get up, “I have to be out the door in five hours.”

“Doesn't that put you at four hours, Agrivane?” Gawain asked.

“About that,” Agrivane grimaced and shrank into himself.

“Agrivane?” Gawain's face fell. Percival stopped mid-throw as Gaheris and Gareth's attention snapped to Agrivane. Mordred, knowing what was coming, sat back down.

“I quit yesterday,” Agrivane told them.

“What?” Gaheris cried, “Why?”

“Not now,” Agrivane said, “please.”

Gareth moved to sit in front of Agrivane as if to guard him.

“Fuck, Agrivane,” Gawain ran both hands through his hair, “I'm sorry.”

“Already forgiven,” Agrivane said absently, “But Mordred's the only one getting up early tomorrow.”

“Well, that early,” Gaheris was frowning.

“You're the genius who's taking a class at eight in the morning,” Mordred said as if Gaheris needed reminding, “But yeah, fuck, sorry, I need to get going. Fuck. Are the rest of you ready because we all took one car? I can call a ride?”

“Stay,” Galahad suggested.

“Oh,” Mordred hadn't considered it an option while sober, “Yeah, okay.”

“Get some sleep thought,” Agrivane told him.

“I can show you where everything is,” Galahad offered. Mordred nodded and let Galahad lead him upstairs.

“That's new,” Gawain commented, “They didn't even look at each other the first day.”

“It's been a weird week,” Bedivere shrugged, “I left my arm charger at the hotel, so I _will_ need to go at some point.”

“They balance each other,” Lancelot said, “Given Mordred's animosity the first time I was worried, but they're...they're both different.”

“I told him to talk to him,” Gareth was grinning.

“Oi,” Agrivane flicked Gareth on the ear, “Be nice.”

“You be nice,” Gareth harrumphed and covered the tops of both his ears. Agrivane chuckled and rustled Gaheris' hair.

“If we take the car back to the apartment how's he getting to work?” Gawain asked, too late to coordinate with Mordred.

“Which of you three is driving?” Agrivane asked.

“I can go spend twenty minutes under the sun lamp if it survived the flood and I'll be good,” Gawain was already at the top of the steps.

“He just likes the sun lamp,” Gareth said as he watched Gawain take the steps two at a time.

“To be fair,” Gaheris yawned, “if I was a Solar Knight and had just learned I could cheat the sun itself with a **lamp** I'd exploit it at every turn.”

“I'm sorry, but what?” Lamorak said, disbelief almost tangible. 

“Give him twenty minutes,” Gareth yawned as well, “and Gawain will be more than happy to tell you more than you ever wanted to know about how his love affair with the sun works.”\ 

“Sounds like the affair is with the lamp,” Lancelot said absently, “You two done?” 

“We'll mop,” Gaheris said. 

“Cool, I'm off to bed, last one to leave lock the doors,” Lancelot propped the mop against the wall and wandered off. 

“How many bedrooms do they have?” Gaheris asked. 

“Besides theirs?” Kay asked, “Two and an office.” 

“Huh,” Gaheris said, “Wonder why Tristan and Dinadan sleep on the couch.” 

“Dinadan sleeps where he drops, if he's kept that habit,” Bedivere yawned, “and damn you both with your yawns.” 

“Don't start,” Kay said too late, a yawn catching him off-guard. Bedivere ended his own yawn with a chuckle, “How's the charge?” 

“It might make it back to the hotel,” Bedivere frowned. 

“Can I ask?” Lamorak hesitated. 

“Myoelectric,” Bedivere explained, “Lets me use it as if it were my first hand, but it needs to charge.” 

“Like a phone?” Gaheris asked. 

“Exactly like a phone,” Bedivere answered. 

“Cool,” Gaheris was staring. Only the hand part was visible, Bedivere's hoodie covering the rest. 

“We'll be by tomorrow,” Kay told everyone, “Now come on you.” He nudged Bedivere, who stood up. Their fingers were intertwined and stayed that way as they made their way out. 

“That's kind of amazing,” Lamorak said after several beats of silence, “That they're together, again this life, but also the arm.” 

“There's something to be said for bonds,” Percival remarked, “Wait, you knew about them the first time?”

"I think everyone Agrivane's age and older knew,” Gareth frowned, “I always felt so left out, coming to Camelot so late in the, well, the story.” 

“After mother and Arthur, well,” Agrivane paused, “All the sudden relationships and other assorted personal ties became a risk rather than an asset.” 

“That's just sad,” Percival gave Agrivane an empathic look. Agrivane looked away. 

"A lot about the sixth century was wrong and sad and regrettable,” Agrivane felt like someone else was using his voice, “but there's a chance, here and now, to redeem some things.” 

“Never pegged you as an optimist,” Lamorak said, not unkindly. 

“You never pegged me in general,” Agrivane realized too late his phrasing. 

“I can hear every word,” Gawain shouted from the basement. 

“Oh my god,” Lamorak covered his face. 

“Not everything has changed,” Agrivane decided the whole face covering deal was a good idea. 

“With Gawain as our constant no wonder we're a bit touched in the head,” Gaheris snorted. 

“Be nice,” Percival chucked another piece of chicken at Gaheris. It hit him in the eye. 

“Oi!” Gaheris shouted. 

“Hush,” Agrivane didn't uncover his face, “The neighbors may only send noise complaints but they don't have magic.” 

“Oi,” Gareth repeated in a whisper. Percival laughed despite himself. 

By the time Gawain returned to the living room, Agrivane was asleep. 

“Guess we're sleeping here anyways,” Gawain shrugged. 

“Couch!” Gaheris was on his feet and then sprawled on one of the couches. 

“Couch!” Percival claimed the other one. 

“Eh,” Gawain shrugged and sprawled out where he had been standing, legs flopped over the top few basement stairs. 

“Some things really haven't changed,” Lamorak marveled, “Fuck, my stuff's in Dinadan's car.” 

“Trust me, he'll be here tomorrow,” Gareth said, “and every day.” 

Lamorak made a noise Gareth couldn't decipher before deciding that lying with his back to the deck door was the best idea. 

Gareth locked the deck door and then the front door before deciding to go see if the two upper levels had any free, soft places to sleep. 


	9. Moving Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes take all forms, including some familiar ones.

“No no no,” Percival grabbed Gareth's wrist, “You're still following through.”

“How do you _not_ follow through?” Gareth whined.

Gaheris was at an exam, so they were using one of Agrivane's coffee mugs as their target. They were both sitting on the counter.

“Okay, keep your wrist on mine,” Percival lined up their wrist bones, “I'm going to do this slowly, just keep pace.”

Percival didn't actually throw anything, just walked Gareth through the motions several times.

“It's like going against instinct,” Gareth complained.

“Most things are at first,” was all Percival had to say.

“What's cage fighting like?” Gareth asked.

“Fun,” Percival's face lit up, “It's the easiest way to focus, for me. It's just the fight. No outside world, no multiple lives, no citizenship worries -”

“Citizenship worries?” Gareth interrupted.

“I live in Amsterdam,” Percival explained, “but am not a citizen there. It hasn't been an issue yet, but I'm too anxious to get a more stable job and such.”

“Ah,” Gareth nodded, “Agrivane's the only one of the five of us here legally. The rest of us – Gawain managed to get us fake documents, but there's no telling how well they'd hold up in a pinch. Hell, I still have mail going to a friend's house and he just sends me a package about once a month of anything that looks like it isn't junk mail.”

“You work online, yes?” Percival asked. Gareth nodded, “Do your clients think you work in England?”

“Scotland,” Gareth corrected, “but yeah.”

A frustrated noise came from the living room.

“You alright in there?” Gareth called.

“Just kind of over job hunting,” Agrivane replied, “Twenty or thirty applications a day and not one goddamned email. Not even to say no! It's been, uh, it's been close to a month now.” He was lying on his stomach, laptop nearly tucked under his chin.

“You could join me in freelancing,” Gareth suggested, “I'm sure my clients would know people who could use your skills.”

“I have exactly no desire to work with people without some sort of mediator,” Agrivane rose so that he was sitting on his knees, careful not to knock his laptop around too much, “though if this goes on much longer I may have to.”

“Have you considered what Galahad said about his dads?” Percival asked.

“Off and on,” Agrivane admitted, “I feel like I'm already indebted to them by nature of, well, everything.”

Percival chucked one of the chunks of chicken in Agrivane's general direction. It fell short.

“Oi,” Agrivane rolled his eyes.

“I'll get it later,” Percival shrugged, “But yeah, Galahad seemed like he was pretty sure they'd have something on offer.”

Agrivane grumbled something neither Percival or Gareth quite caught.

“Go outside,” Gareth told him, “You're doing it again. Sunlight and fresh air.”

“You make me sound like a plant,” Agrivane stretched before lying back down.

“How long are you guys going to stay,” Gareth got the hint and turned his attention back to Percival.

“We're probably here for the long hall,” Percival shrugged, “Galahad's been mentioning buying a car more and more frequently.”

“Seems serious,” Gareth pursed his lips, “What will you guys do?”

“I can see if there's a local bit,” Percival seemed unbothered.

“And how is Galahad going to afford a car?” Gaheris followed up.

“Take the money talk outside,” Agrivane warned them.

Percival threw another piece of chicken into the coffee mug.

“Urgh,” Gareth tried and fell just short.

“Falling with force, not throwing,” Percival reminded him.

Agrivane moved his laptop to the coffee table and tried to take a nap.

–

Kay and Bedivere had, after the first three weeks, moved into Lancelot's house rather than continued to stay at the hotel.

It had been Galehaut's idea but Lancelot had been the one to suggest it to them.

Galahad, too, had moved in with them.

All the spare bedrooms full, everyone else was stuck to couches, stairs and, in Bors' case, the dining table.

“Why don't we eat at the table?” Kay asked around a mouthful of cereal one morning, “might do the couches a favor.”

“You were here for a few fights,” Lancelot answered, “The couches we got to be abused. The table is for more formal events and holidays.”

“We had friends at one point,” Galehaut didn't sound upset about the past tense of the statement.

“We still have friends,” Lancelot elbowed him.

“We had friends who didn't view roughhousing to the point of breaking walls gentle fun,” Galehaut amended, “Though, everyone been a lot less violent as of late.”

“I think the fight between Lamorak, Mordred, and Agrivane established some hard and fast new limits for everyone,” Kay guessed, “It was after then it started to taper off pretty quickly.”

“Six in under a week,” Lancelot shook his head, “Fucking hell.”

“Did we ever figure out what Lamorak was doing in town?” Kay started fishing for the last bits of cereal, “Or if he's coming back?”

“Apparently he does media fishing,” Galehaut answered, “whatever that means.”

“Sounds like one of those job titles someone made up to make whoever was applying for it feel more valued before they get bled dry,” Kay slurped up the leftover milk and dropped his spoon and bowl into the sink without looking.

“He said he'd be back before the holidays,” Galehaut answered the other part of Kay's question, “but he didn't say for how long.”

“Hopefully he's cooled down quite a bit by then,” Kay bristled, “That was...more types of Not Good than I've cared to count.”

“I'm going to reach out to Agrivane,” Lancelot said suddenly, “I know he's been putting more hours into job hunting than he'd have to put into a full-time job.”

“And fuck knows we need a better website,” Galehaut tacked his thought onto the end of Lancelot's. Lancelot nodded.

“We did the best we knew how,” Lancelot looked between Kay and Galehaut, “Still know how. Is Bedivere sleeping in?”

“Yeah,” Kay scooted to sit on the counter, “It's Saturday already.”

“Fuck,” Galehaut swore, “I swear each weeks go faster.”

“Do you guys do that American holiday with the turkey and the table full of side dishes or whatever?” Kay asked, “because I know that comes before Christmas.” He looked at the dining table.

“Oh, no,” Lancelot and Galehaut said together before launching into a chorus of overlapping “Absolutely not,” “Oh gods no,” “No, no.”

“We'll volunteer at a local soup kitchen if we're feeling like the hotel can run itself,” Lancelot offered a more coherent explanation, “but no, the holiday's just...fucked up and kind of covers for genocide?”

“Like the entirety of British history,” Kay said ruefully. Lancelot nodded and winced. Galehaut grimaced.

“Saturday already,” Lancelot circled back a few sentences, “That means tomorrow morning everyone's here for brunch.”

“Still don't know why you decided brunch was at ten,” Galehaut had stopped complaining.

“So we're not up until three in the morning,” Lancelot shrugged, “Did you want anything else, Kay?”

“Nah, thanks,” Kay waved him off, “thought I may take something up to Bedivere if he's not up in an hour. Where's Galahad?”

“Said he was going to go explore outside the city,” Lancelot said, “He's ansty.”

“I don't blame him,” Kay emphasized, “I'm glad there's a lot to do in the city otherwise I'd've probably gone stir crazy by now,” Kay caught the slur and winced before correcting himself, “I'd've probably crawled up the wall. Interior and exterior.”

“If you find yourself on the roof there's been a frisbee up there since we bought the place,” Lancelot teased.

“Noted,” Kay's tone was serious but his eyes were bright.

–

Mordred got home late – the closing shift turned into an emergency cleanup shift when someone found mold in the back of the walk-in – to Agrivane pacing but everyone else asleep.

“Hey,” Mordred kept his voice down.

“Hey,” Agrivane stopped in his tracks.

“Anxious?” Mordred asked.

“Two months,” Agrivane knew he didn't have to say what had been two months, “The leasing office sent me a notice saying I have fourteen days to show I'm employed or they're evicting me. And in turn all of us.”

“Fuck,” Mordred toes off his shoes, “Can you sublet? I'm pretty sure if I picked up another job we could squeak by.”

“I can check,” Agrivane sat down and put his head in his hands, “Fuck.”

“Hey,” Mordred crouched down to stay level with him despite being several feet away, “We've been through worse.”

“That doesn't mean we should rationalize losing the apartment,” Agrivane countered.

“Two weeks is the first of December, yeah?” Mordred asked. Agrivane nodded, “A lot can happen in two weeks.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Agrivane muttered.

–

Lancelot finally offered Agrivane a job on Thanksgiving.

“What would I do?” was Agrivane's first question.

“Whatever needs to be done,” Lancelot shrugged, “We're not a big hotel so you won't be busy, if you don't handle a lot of down time well.”

“It would be less repetitive than job hunting,” Agrivane admitted to himself despite speaking aloud.

“I doubt anywhere's open to actually figure out the paperwork,” Lancelot told Agrivane, “but Monday we can get started.”

“Thank you,” Agrivane said so quietly Lancelot almost missed it.

–

Kay and Bedivere were perched on top of a bench, feet where most people would sit, holding their disposable coffee cups tight and watching people flit from store to store. Entire families traveled together, children and sometimes adults screaming.

“And I thought the grocery store Thanksgiving morning was wild,” Bedivere commented.

“Americans,” Kay scoffed, “Though I'm sure some of the bigger cities anywhere would have these problems if everything went on sale at midnight.”

Bedivere shook his head, disbelieving. Kay took a sip of his coffee despite it being too hot.

“You know you could...” Bedivere didn't finish his suggestion, trusting Kay to fill in the blanks.

“If I start making coffee perfect temperatures the next thing you know everyone will be asking me to do things like _make popcorn_ and _heat up their soup._ ”

“From the sounds of it there's at least one microwave that may thank you,” Bedivere chuckled. Kay gave him a playful shove with his shoulder.

“A holiday specifically for misconstruing history and eating until you hate yourself,” Kay pressed against Bedivere, “as if Christmas wasn't enough.”

“You and Christmas,” Bedivere teased.

“Not my fault it was much more fun before capitalism sterilized it,” Kay bristled.

“You miss the bonfires,” Bedivere accused.

“And the fair folk of the evergreens and the snow and -” Kay stopped as Bedivere laughed.

“You could make it snow again,” Bedivere suggested.

“Just over Lancelot's,” Kay decided, “See how the neighbors feel.”

–

Lamorak came back the day after Thanksgiving. It wasn't until he landed in San Francisco that he realized he hadn't grabbed _anyone's_ contact information.

He checked the time and realized he had, blessedly, missed the worst of the Black Friday traffic.

He hadn't written down Galehaut and Lancelot's address, either, and Dinadan hadn't exactly driven in a way that allowed him to make a map of the route.

He sat on a bench in the middle of SFO and pulled out his phone, furiously scrolling through his location data to see if Maps could tell him where he'd been.

Thankfully, there was at least an approximation. He jumped in the first taxi he saw.

He worried the entire ride about whether or not he was making a mistake. He'd fucked up so bad that even gentle Galahad decided to lash out, tipping the delivery guy two hundred and ten percent.

“Here ya are,” the driver's voice derailed his inner monologue entirely, “Do you know how to pay with the little machine?”

“Yessir,” Lamorak nodded. The house they're pulled up to didn't look like the right one, but he wasn't opposed to walking around. It was, at least temperature-wise, a mild day.

Lamorak finished paying and nearly left his bag in the cab, so focused on trying to pick a direction to wander off in.

–

It took near two hours – the neighborhood wasn't nearly so convoluted as to have warranted it, but Lamorak may have gotten lost a little bit on purpose – but he finally arrived at the house where he knew his entire future would be decided.

Before he could raise a hand to knock, he heard someone shout, “Someone's at the door!”

“I got it!” he recognized Galehaut's voice, “I – oh dear.”

A thud and a yelp and a, “What have I told you about running on slick floors in your socks!”

“That I'm paying my own emergency room bills!” came the reply.

Lamorak wondered – not for the first time – what he was getting himself into.

Galehaut opened the door, Gareth sprawled on the floor behind him.

“Lamorak!” Galehaut exclaimed, “In, in, try not to step on anyone.”

“How many people are on the floor?” Lamorka's eyes widened.

“Right now just him,” Galehaut shrugged, “Lamorak's here!” 

“Kay and Bedivere are still sleeping!” Bors' voice came from the dining room.

“What's on them for staying out so late,” Tristan's voice came.

Lamorak stepped inside and Galehaut closed the door behind him.

“Is everyone still here?” Lamorak asked as he put his luggage down. Galehaut nodded.

“Kay and Bedivere and Galahad have moved in here,” Galehaut told him, “Bors and Percival have been spending most of their time at Isolde's, or on Dinadan's boat when it isn't booked.”

“Boat,” Lamorak repeated.

“Boat,” Galehaut nodded, “Let me me take your jacket. Gareth, out of the way of the coat closet.”

“Let me lay here and feel sorry fo rmyself,” Gareth complained.

“Nope,” Galehaut denied his request, “roll out the way.”

Lamorak shrugged his coat off and handed it to Galehaut, who swept Gareth out of the way as he opened the closet door.

“Okay, okay,” Gareth scrambled out of the way, “fuck.”

“Entirely your fault!” Agrivane's voice came from the dining room.

“Everyone's playing Blood on the Clocktower,” Galehaut said, “It's like One Night Werewolf but...a bit more intense.”

“And more complex,” Gareth finally got to his feet.

“Most whole-group games need to be played in the living room and we haven't quite moved from the table,” Galehaut shrugged.

“What about Pictionary?” Lamorak asked as he unlaced his shoes.

“Especially Pictionary,” Gareth mumbled.

–

“Bedivere,” Kay tried to pull his arm out from under the other man, “Bedivere, up, come on.”

“No,” Bedivere rolled closer to Kay, “'s not time to get up yet.”

“It's half-past three,” Kay informed him, “and I'd like to be showered and dressed before at least I wander downstairs to get food.”

“Fine,” Bedivere rolled back over, “but you know everyone else is going to be downstairs.”

“Everyone else is probably here for the weekend,” Kay slid his arm free, “I'm tempted to order them some air mattresses or folding cots or something.”

“Always thinking of other people,” Bedivere assessed, already nearly back to sleep.

Kay huffed a quiet laugh and slipped out of the room.

–

Guinevere sat down at the only open table in the entire coffee shop and immediately pulled out her phone.

Even on her day off, there was so much to do.

She didn't look up when someone sat down across from her. “That's my husband's seat,” she said reflexively.

“In that case I'm twice as fortunate,” the newcomer said.

Guinevere gave just enough pause to look up. She squinted, trying to place the face.

Arthur came up with their coffees.

“Yvain,” Arthur recognized him instantly. He put the coffees down, nearly spilling them.

“Twice as fortunate,” Yavain looked up at Arthur, eyes wide.

“Looks like it's not just us and the magicians, Jen,” Arthur was smiling.

Guinevere locked her phone and put it on the table.

“Oh, Sir,” Yvain made a squeaking noise and stood up, ceding the seat.

“No, no,” Arthur motioned for him to sit back down, then motioned for Guinevere to get up. Yvain made a few noises of protest but no words formed. Arthur sat on Guinevere's seat, and his queen perched on his right leg. Arthur wrapped one arm around her waist and took his coffee cup in his other hand. Guinevere grabbed hers with both hands.

“Tell us,” Guinevere encouraged Yvain, “what have you been doing?”

“Animal rescue,” Yvain flushed, the combination of the attention and the closeness of his king and queen and the fact _he wasn't alone_ overwhelming, “I mostly travel between animal sanctuaries – a year here, two years there – and help restructure intake and evaluation procedures.”

“Fitting,” Arthur appraised, “What brings you to Portland?”

“I just spent eighteen months in the middle of nowhere,” Yvain explained, “and Portland was the least expensive city to book a train ticket to. Figured I could do with some time around more than a dozen people. What about you two?”

“Also decided it was a good day to spend some time in a city,” Guinevere told him, “though we come here fairly often.”

“It's here or Eugene,” Arthur laughed. Guinevere swatted him.

“Oh stop,” she sounded exasperated, “Eugene isn't as bad as you've convinced yourself it is. Anyways, we own a winery on the other end of the state – vertically – so Portland's more of a treat.”

“She owns a winery and lets me make some decisions,” Arthur added. Guinevere rolled here eyes and Arthur laughed.

“How long are you in Portland?” Arthur asked.

“Uh,” Yvain blinked a few times, “I don't know. I don't have anything else lined up yet.”

Guinevere craned her neck to look at Arthur. Yvain felt like he was watching an hour's worth of conversation happen in the space of a few blinks.

“You could come with us,” Arthur told him.

“Yes,” Yvain didn't even need to think about it.

–

“How long of a drive?” Yvain asked as he buckled his seat belt.

“Usually close to five hours,” Guinevere told him, “but he's driving, so probably a bit under four.”

“Not my fault people don't know how to handle winding roads,” Arthur shrugged, “We should probably tell you now instead of forgetting until you find out on your own that Morgan and Viviane stop by fairly regularly.”

Yvain made a surprised sound.

“They're usually in Avalon,” Arthur turned the engine over, “but they found us maybe two weeks after we bought the winery.”

“It was a busy two weeks,” Guinevere added. Yvain nodded as if he understood the depth of it.

–

“Okay, go!” Gaheris said. Gareth threw a bite-sized cheese cracker.

Gaheris caught it.

“FINALLY!” Gareth cried.

“Okay, again!” Gaheris said as soon as he finished chewing.

Gawain shook his head and laughed. “Remember, new place doesn't have easily cleanable carpets!”

“Then don't step on anything I miss!” Gaheris called back.

The Orkney brothers had decided to move out voluntarily despite the eviction notice being rescinded upon proof of Agrivane's new job.

The townhouse – much bigger than their apartment – was a budget stretch for Agrivane but he had finally given in to Mordred's increasingly incessant demands to let him help with the bills.

Also, it was a three bedroom with den, which meant Agrivane didn't have to use the tent for privacy.

They had rushed to move out on the thirtieth of November and into the new place on December first. Most of their things were still in boxes.

All three bedrooms were on the second floor while the den was on the first floor, just off the living room. It didn't have a functioning door, but Agrivane had hung a curtain up and considered it more than good enough.

Gaheris and Gawain had their own bedrooms and Mordred was so rarely home that Gareth might as well have had his own room.

“How long until finals?” Gareth asked Gaheris.

“What's today?” Gaheris asked.

“The seventh,” Gawain told them.

“So six days,” Gaheris did the math, “I'm not as worried as I could be.”

“This is your second to last semester at community,” Gareth knew he didn't need to remind the youngest Orkney, “Have you thought about what's next?”

“Nope,” Gaheris shook his head, “and with, well, everything I may take a year off, honestly.”

“Not your worst idea,” Gawain informed him, “besides, we're now only, like, twenty minutes away from the epicenter.”

The townhouse had been chosen in part because of the price and in part because Agrivane was much closer to the hotel.

Mordred had managed to transfer his main three jobs closer to the townhouse as well. He dropped the forth after they refused to work with him on a transfer.

“I'll get through midterms first,” Gaheris said, “and from there I'll figure it out. Anyways, again!”

Gareth laughed and threw another cracker.

–

“I think we're going to need a bigger house,” Galehaut mentioned to Lancleot over their first truly private lunch in weeks.

“I don't disagree,” Lancelot sighed, “All three places are overcrowded.”

“There's,” Galehaut paused to count despite having just had the number in his head, “nineteen of us now.”

“We've got five of us here, Agrivane's got his brothers, Lamorak bounces between us and Isolde, and then Isolde puts up the rest,” Lancelot divided them up by primary sleeping place, “Yeah, that's a lot for all of us.”

“It's not that I'm not thankful there's going to be more than a dozen of us come...what may,” Galehaut paused, “but until what may comes, I wouldn't mind more moments like this.” He rubbed Lancelot's leg with his foot, “I don't want our relationship to wind up suffering because of...this.” He gestured around him at nothing in particular.

“I know, and I don't either,” Lancelot sighed, “I can't imagine Kay and Bedivere have gotten much time to themselves, either.” Galehaut hummed in agreement.

“Even if it was a place with more bedrooms or more unused rooms,” Galehaut added, “You know?”

“Well,” Lancelot drummed his fingers on the table a few times, “We can look to see what's for sale.”

“Anything big enough to put us all up is going to also be harder to repair when someone takes out a wall,” Galehaut frowned.

“We could tell everyone if they can make it two months without causing any unintentional property damage, we can open discussions about getting a place comfortable enough for all of us,” Lancelot raised an eyebrow.

“You sure you want everyone to know exactly how much we earn?” Galehaut asked.

“I doubt they're going to get any weirder in our general direction,” Lancelot shrugged, “and they almost undoubtedly already have an idea, given how much we repair the place.”

“Hmn,” Galehaut hummed thoughtfully, “Alright, but only if we extend it to intentional damage to property and people.”

Lancelot laughed so he wouldn't scream.


	10. Merry Christmas, I guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is a weird time of year no matter where you find yourself.

Gaheris laid on Lancelot and Galehaut's kitchen counter, refreshing the page every few seconds.

“Off,” Galehaut rolled the young knight onto the floor. Gaheris landed with a thud and rolled away, still holding his phone close to his face.

“I'm still waiting on one grade,” Gaheris whined.

“It's the day before Christmas eve day,” Galehaut reminded him, “If it's not up now, it's not going to be up for another two days at least.

Gaheris let loose a pained sound. Galehaut ignored him.

“Alright,” Kay's voice came from the dining room, “Mordred, Galahad, Isolde, Dinadan, I want you four taking two cars and getting the place settings, single-use trash cans, and, well, list is on the fridge. Divide it up yourselves. Tristan, Agrivane, Lamorak, groceries. Bors, you'll be on cleaning detail with Gawain, myself and Bedivere. Lancelot, Galehaut, this is your house, you've done enough letting us use it. Perc...try to keep Gaheris off the counters and Gareth out of doorways.”

Kay had slipped into the roll of _in charge of Christmas_ so naturally it hadn't occurred to anyone to ask him if he actually celebrated.

“We should have done at least the décor shopping before now, but that's too late, so godspeed you poor bastards,” Kay stood up straight, “Alright, we want to start cooking in six hours, so groceries, you have your time limits. Decor, do what you have to.”

“I'm going to steal,” Dinadan announced.

“You're on your own for bail,” Kay shrugged.

“Stick to the color pallet,” Bedivere warned them, “If you get caught stealing because you've decided to skip the lines, that's entirely your fault.”

“Bedivere!” Kay was laughing too hard to snap.

–

Mordred and Galahad took Agrivane's car while Isolde took her own, banishing Dinadan to the back seat. They had literally ripped the list in half and Galahad held both pieces behind his back and had Mordred and Isolde each pick a hand.

“Goddamnit,” Agrivane watched Mordred drive away, “MORDRED YOU TOOK YOUR OWN CAR HERE!” He knew Mordred was too far away to hear him, but it felt better.

“So uh,” Tristan had the list, “I can take Dinadan's car, but I am genuinely afraid that six hours isn't going to be enough time to get all this.

“Let me see,” Agrivane held out a hand. Tristan handed him the list. “Huh, wow, yeah, at least someone divided it up by store.”

“Looks like Bedivere's handwriting,” Lamorak squinted, “I still don't know the city. How far apart is everything?”

“Far enough I think they expected us to also divide ourselves up,” Agrivane tried to do the mental calculations, “I can take Mordred's car – I have his key for the same reason he has mine – but we're not going to be able to just rip the list in half like they did. Lamorak, can you drive?”

“Yeah, why?” Lamorak asked.

“Because one of you is going to need to come with me,” Agrivane said, “My hand hasn't quite been right since Gawain bit it and I'm not going to carry anything breakable with it.”

“Since Gawain _bit_ it?” Lamorak wanted to make sure he'd heard correctly. Agrivane nodded.

“I can take the shops in the lower half of the city,” Tristan offered, “if you two don't mind the crowds.”

Agrivane shrugged. Lamorak hesitated, looking between Agrivane and Tristan before he also nodded.

“Cool,” Tristan took a picture of the list, “Six hours, christ, they should have put Dinadan on groceries.”

“Dinadan would break everything,” Agrivane pointed out. Tristan laughed.

“Godspeed,” Tristan told them.

–

Mordred and Galahad had decided to cross the Oakland Bay bridge and try the closest Walmart Galahad's phone could find.

_“There's, like, half a dozen Targets in the city,” Mordred had pointed out._

_“There's also fewer people across the bridge,” Galahad had argued, “and fewer people means a higher chance of finding an much holly-themed décor as Kay seems set on.”_

Mordred hadn't had a counter-argument, so there they were, driving over an hour to go to the one store Mordred had been avoiding since he moved stateside.

Galahad reasoned that both Agrivane and Lancelot called Mordred before they called Galahad, so Mordred should conserve his phone battery.

“It's barely half an hour,” Mordred said after the third time Galahad's phone dropped reception, “My phone can take it.”

“You took Agrivane's car and you two have different chargers,” Galahad pointed out, “But yeah, since mine seems intent on not helping.”

“Oh shit, I did,” Mordred hadn't noticed, “Fuck.”

“You two have entirely different cars,” Galahad blinked.

“We drive each others' often enough,” Mordred shrugged, “Gareth and Gaheris haven't officially learned to drive and Gawain doesn't seem to like it.”

“Makes sense,” Galahad shrugged, “It's nice, seeing you all get along better.”

“It _feels_ nice,” Mordred admitted, “Like, I never hated them but we'd never had the chance to _genuinely get along_ before.”

“I can't imagine,” Galahad was staring out the window.

“Here,” Mordred dug his phone out, “passcode's two-six-four-three-five.”

“Right,” Galahad took the phone, unlocked it, and brought up Maps. Once the navigation started, he handed the phone back to Mordred, who leaned it against the dashboard.

“I wonder how it's going for everyone else,” Galahad mentioned.

“Depends on the group,” Mordred replied, “I'd bet Percival and Gareth are having the most difficult time.”

Galahad laughed, a sound Mordred hadn't heard him make quite so loudly before. Galahad's hand flew over his mouth.

“It's alright,” Mordred tried to assure him.

“I forget that, sometimes,” Galahad's voice was as quiet as the night he's shown up unannounced at his fathers' doorstep.

“It's easy to forget,” Mordred agreed, thinking of his own mental shackles he was trying to shake.

“I do like this life better,” Galahad turned to look out the windshield, “between the technology and the social standards.”

“Yeah,” Mordred nodded, “It feels like there's more room despite the population differences.”

“Speaking of which,” Galahad changed the subject, “what do you think about my dads' offer about a place big enough for all of us?”

“I'm for it,” Mordred answered, “but I think Agrivane's kind of swinging between gratitude and fear.”

“He's had a time,” Galahad felt himself frowning, “Has it always been this bad?”

“I don't know,” Mordred admitted, “but at least as long as I've known him this life, yeah.”

“I know how it feels to some extent,” Galahad glanced over at Mordred and then back out the windshield, “to have someone else's expectations pasted over your life and have nearly all of your choices stripped from by by virtue of circumstance.”

“I'm sorry,” Mordred said.

“Not your fault,” Galahad replied.

“I meant it in a sympathetic way,” Mordred took his right hand off the steering wheel and let his forearm rest on the center console, “Not in the same way you did, but I understand.”

Galahad looked over to Mordred and noticed the tightness around Mordred's nose and eyes. Galahad wondered, for the first time this life, what Mordred felt about having to rally for the man who'd tried to kill him more than once.

“Here's to choice,” Galahad tentatively rested his hand over Mordred's.

“Yeah,” Mordred choked on the word. He rotated his arm to lace his fingers with Galahad's, “to choice.”

–

Tristan got maybe ten minutes away from the hose before he pulled into a parking lot, unlocked his phone, and started ordering everything from Instacart.

He entered the address of a cafe he knew he liked, had everything set to be delivered there, and started driving again, only feeling a little guilty for not suggesting the same thing to Lamorak and Agrivane, but holy fuck did those two need to work some things out.

–

“Alright,” Dinadan read the list over Isolde's shoulder, “You take five, I take five, and then we meet back here?”

“I'm glad you're confident we'll be able to find all ten things here,” Isolde told him.

“It's _Michael's_ Dinadan nearly whined, “They have everything decor-related here except the single-use trash cans, which are on the other half of the list.”

“Are you taking first five of last five?” Isolde asked.

“Ah, crap, good point,” Dinadan furrowed his brows, “Last I guess.”

“Last one here buys lunch,” Isolde took off at a run with the list.

–

Gaheris had, after another ten minutes of sulking and refreshing the page, suggested they help clean. Percival agreed. Gareth, at that point, felt like it would be weird to disagree.

They cleaned the basement, where none of the festivities were set to take place, but that was beside the point.

Gareth ran his hand over one of the damaged baseboard, long since dried but forever warped.

“Do you two ever think about it?” Gareth asked.

“All the time,” Percival was using a toothbrush to clean some mildew off a different baseboard, “I was afraid the whole thing was going to fracture irreparably.”

“Agrivane might have,” Gaheris was mopping the cement floor, “He really, really won't talk about it.”

“He and Gawain never talk about anything,” Gaheris pouted, “this life or the first one.”

“From what I could tell, mom and dad change a lot between raising them and raising us,” Gareth explained for Percival's benefit, “They – mom dad, us – were nothing like the stories that got written down.”

“There's so little truth to the stories and yet so many preserved details,” Percival stopped scrubbing while he spoke, “What actually happened with Lamorak?”

“We did kill him,” Gaheris said, “Well, Agrivane did, but we were all there.”

“It was a bad night,” Gareth tried to defend Agrivane, “but to keep it short, Lamorak had challenged Agrivane's honor and abilities as a Knight, goaded him with things like how he was lucky to be the second son because he'd be a weak King. Nothing Gawain hadn't said to him, but it's _different_ when it comes from outside the family.”

“Agrivane challenged Lamorak to a final duel. Gawain actually tried to talk him out of it, but Agrivane informed Gawain he needed to step off or join Lamorak,” Gaheris shuddered, “Gareth was still a Page and I was even younger, but we...we all watched.”

“I was so sure it wasn't going to go in Lamorak's favor,” Gareth admitted, “He was averse to blood and Lamorak was stronger.”

“But well,” Gaheris paused, “Lamorak lost.”

Percival whistled through his teeth.

“I can't imagine showing up with, you know, Dinadan, and seeing your murderer almost as soon as you walked in the house,” Gaheris continued, “but it didn't nee to go that far.”

“Most things have gone further than they needed to,” Gareth noted, “I'm glad things are changing, even if I miss the roughhousing.”

“The whole _play nice and we can get a bigger place_ offer has helped curb a lot of impulses,” Gaheris shrugged. Gareth made a sound of agreement, “Say, Perc, what's it like to fight for a living?”

“A lot different from roughhousing,” Percival told them, “maybe after Christmas Bors can show you. He's the teacher.”

Gareth and Gaheris' faces lit up.

–

“What's a rutabaga?” Lamorak asked.

“Swede,” Agrivane used the British-English word.

“Ah,” Lamorak frowned.

They'd hit two of the three shops on their half of the list – small, more upscale things they'd had to basically adopt a clerk for half an hour to find everything in. Agrivane had intentionally saved the one they'd be in the longest for last.

“A ham _and_ a turkey _and_ a goose,” Agrivane read over the list again, “I'm making an executive decision and saying we should get two of each. I've seen how my brothers eat.”

Lamorak made an amused noise.

“They're young,” Agrivane went on the defensive, “And, well, Gawain.”

“Gawain's always eaten like he was starving,” Lamorak recalled.

“I've always thought it had to do with energy expenditure,” Agrivane noted, “Powers from the sun or not, the human body can only burn through as much as you put into it.”

“Never thought of it like that,” Lamorak admitted. Agrivane shrugged and grabbed a cart.

“Swede, turkey, ham, goose,” Agrivane started reading down the list while pushing the cart, “potatoes, something like six more types of cheeses, whipped cream, normal cream, yellow and red onions, carrots, three different types of lettuce,” he paused for breath.

“What on earth is Tristan getting?” Lamorak leaned over to look at the list.

“Smaller stuff and some wares like a miniature blow torch,” Agrivane told him, “much more spread out. Okay, also on our list, four types of crackers, a couple dips and spreads, bell peppers, and an assortment of spices.” Lamorak nodded.

“Carcasses first,” Agrivane decided, “then everything else.”

“Carcasses?” Lamorak blinked.

“Well I'm fairly certain Kay would have a fit if we only got part of the birds,” Agrivane veered towards the deli area, “though if we came back with two whole pigs Lancelot and/or Galehaut might have a fit.”

“Fair,” Lamorak smiled despite himself, “What size are you thinking?”

“Not the largest but also not the smallest?” Agrivane hadn't thought about it, “Somewhere in the middle?”

“Sure,” Lamorak lifted two hames by their net handles any put them in the cart, “Turkeys seem to be down a cooler, no idea if geese would be there as well.”

Agrivane turned the cart around. Lamorak tossed two turkeys in like they weighted nothing.

“Not seeing the geese,” Lamorak said.

“I'll ask at the counter,” Agrivane pointed towards the deli with his nose. Lamorak followed him.

The goose-related inquiry was successful – two birds that hadn't been prepped for display but were ready for sale were handed over. Lamorak took them and added them to the cart.

“Cheeses next, other side of the store,” Agrivane said. Once again, Lamorak followed.

“What cheeses are we looking for?” Lamorak asked. Agrivane pulled the list out of his pocket and handed it to Lamorak. “Two types of cheddar, a brie wheel, gouda, havarti, swiss, and 'free choice,'” Lamorak rattled off.

“Easy to find,” Agrivane wasn't worried, “and he didn't specify amounts so I'm going to assume we don't need to get, like, industrial sizes.”

“We could just show up with enough cheese to act as the meal for the next several days,” Lamorak suggested, “just to be safe.”

Agrivane laughed, picturing Lancelot's face.

“Cheese,” Agrivane stopped the cart. 

They both started looking over the options. Lamorak went to grab one of the cheddar blocks but hissed, winced, and withdrew his hand, palm up.

“Agrivane?” Lamorak froze.

“Don't worry about it,” Agrivane was gripping his palm, “just over-extended it. It'll be fine in a moment.”

“The bite?” Lamorak nodded, “What _happened_?”

Agrivane told him.

“The tendons themselves weren't damaged,” Agrivane finished, “but the scars pull sometimes and the tendons react like they were. I just wasn't careful.” Agrivane used his thumb on his unaffected hand to massage out the affected tendons while his fingers acted as a brace.

Lamorak made an unhappy noise and frowned. 

–

“Alright!” Kay's voice cut above the excited chatter, “Dinner's going to start going on the table in twenty minutes, I want everyone **clear** between the kitchen and dining room within the next two!”

“We have a Christmas tree,” Lancelot was sitting on Galehaut's lap in Galehaut's favorite chair, “Gale, we _have a Christmas tree.”_

“I still don't know where they found one that wasn't missing half its branches this close to Christmas,” Galehaut marveled, “or how they got in it Agrivane's car.” 

“Pretty sure they would have tied it to the top,” Lancelot pointed out, “but still.” 

“Isolde!” Kay's voice cut above the noise once again, “how are the final decorations going?” 

“Tristan and Dinadan are finishing on the porch!” Isolde called back. 

“Go make sure they haven't decided to start ladder jousting or something!” Bedivere's voice came from upstairs. 

“It's nice, though,” Galehaut held Lancelot close, “It feels like family.” 

“Yeah,” Lancelot said with a soft sigh, “They've all bee on their best behavior since we offered the new place.” 

“Does Kay even celebrate Christmas?” Galehaut realized he was asking with six hours left till midnight on Christmas eve. 

“No idea,” Lancelot admitted, “but I have a feeling for him it's far more about fostering the communal atmosphere than what the holiday itself is.” Galehaut made a noise of agreement 

Everyone minus Isolde, Dinadan, Tristan – on the font porch – Kay, Bedivere, and Bors – on kitchen duty – filed into the living room, the threat of whatever Kay hadn't needed to directly state should anyone be between the kitchen and the table spurring them on. 

“Hey boys?” Isolde called from the front door, “We have a visitor!” 

“Known or unknown?” Kay was the first to answer as he whisked one of the plates of turkey to the table. 

“Known!” Isolde called back, “though no axe this time!” 

“Fuck,” all the blood drained from Gawain's face. 

“Get 'im!” Mordred hissed, “Don't let him, like, crash through the glass door or something.” 

Gawain found seven sets of hands on him before he could say he didn't think he could move if he wanted to. 

“Bertilak!” Bedivere recovered first, “Either help set the table or join everyone else out of the way in the living room!” 

“You're just going to greet a god like that,” Kay said quieter. 

“Same as any other guest,” Bedivere shrugged. 

“Or help us with these damned lights!” Dinadan suggested. 

“Be in in a moment!” Bedtilak called inside, “These lads seem like they need the most help.” 

“It's not that bad!” Tristan defended his handiwork. 

“Yes it is,” Isolde's voice could be heard as the door closed. 

Everyone inside the house was quiet for a few beats. 

“It's only a bit over half an hour to Wal-Mart,” Galahad broke the silence, “I could go get a couple of axes.” 

“Not helping,” Agrivane warned. 

“It's a little funny,” Gawain was still tense, unmoving, “If I promise not to break anything will you lot let me go?” 

All the hands removed themselves. 

“Wonder what he's doing here,” Lancelot let an inside thought become an outside thought. 

Kay, Bedivere, and Bors continued setting the table in silence, the occasional shuffle of feet when two of them tried to occupy the same space in different directions the loudest sounds. 

The sound of the door opening again had everyone's attention aimed at the foyer. 

“Help set the table or stay out of the way!” Bedivere called out, “Kay's on a mission!” 

“Yes, a mission not to drop anything,” Kay jostled Bedivere with his shoulder. 

Isolde lead the other three towards the living room, all four of them taking off their shoes as they walked. 

Bertilak paused at the top of the living room steps to take in the sheer volume of people, not yet registering individuals. 

“Camelot,” he breathed. 

“Some of it,” Lancelot's three words were caught between agreement and a correction. 

“Bertilak,” Gawain rose to his feet, legs unsteady. 

“Gawain?” Bertilak's expression changed from overwhelmed to awe. 

“I sure hope so,” Gawain tried to joke. 

Bertilak crossed the room, stepping over and around knights still seated on the floor, and came to a stop in front of Gawain. 

“Gawain,” Bertilak repeated. 

“Yeah,” Gawain's voice cracked. 

Bertilak brought a hand up to Gawain's face and rest his palm on the smaller man's cheek. Gawain leaned into the touch, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His eyes barely came to Bertilak's collarbones. 

Everyone watched, an anxious anticipation taking on a tangible presence. Even Kay had stopped to witness the proceedings. 

“I,” Gawain tried to find words, and failed. 

He stood on his toes, catching Bertilak's lips with his own. Bertilak made a pleased sound and met Gawain's gesture with an equally frantic longing. 

Mordred covered Gaheris' eyes. 

“Well Merry Christmas, I guess,” Kay said before he resumed setting the table. 


	11. To New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the New Year and everyone has different ideas about it.

Arthur grumbled as he turned back towards his private wine cellar.

“One day you could knock,” he said under his breath, “ar at the very least use the door. Any door! Not even the front if you'd rather the back!”

“Good to see you, too, little brother,” Morgan laughed, “I trust Guinevere is here as well?”

“As is Yvain, but you knew that!” Arthur was shouting.

“You really don't need to antagonize him,” Viviane was smiling.

“Someone needs to,” Morgan sounded as pleased with herself as she felt.

They recognized Guinevere's footsteps on the stone floor.

“Ah,” the queen said in recognition, “I take it he's already fetching some wine.”

“I don't think he wants to endure my presence sober,” Morgan remarked.

“Well, if you brought news other than dire warnings he might,” there was no heat in Guinevere's words, “should I get Yvain as well?”

“You both assume we know he's here,” Vivian chided.

“You know where we all are,” it wasn't an accusation, “I'll get Yvain and see what snacks we have on hand.”

“Porch?” Morgan asked.

“Porch,” Viviane nodded.

–

Kay hadn't meant to sneak up on Lancelot, but nevertheless when Kay said, “So,” Lancelot yelped and jumped.

“I am going to put bells on you,” Lancelot had a hand over his heart.

“No you're not,” Kay called his bluff, “anyways, where are you on a New Year's Eve party?”

“Are you asking because you have one in mind or because you wanted to host one here?” Lancelot narrowed his eyes.

“I'm asking,” Kay's eyes were bright, “because I think it would be an excellent idea for all of us to head into the mountains for a day or two and see what magic we can do when we don't have to worry about nearby buildings and judging by what little research I've done it looks like no one goes camping on New Year's Eve.”

“That's because it's cold and also parties in woods tend to be higher risk in terms of eprsonal safetly,” Lancelot told him, “and NYE parties are already high risk.”

“Suit yourself,” Kay shrugged.

“Why are you asking me, anyways?” Lancelot settled back into his chair.

“Seriously?” Kay flicked Lancelot's ear, “You're our _leader_ until Arthur's return.”

“I am?” Lancelot had never thought of it like that.

“Lance,” Kay sat down across from him, “You are Arthur's champion. Not just were. Look around and tell me anyone would sacrifice as much as you have in the name of hope and faith.”

“Galehaut,” Lancelot didn't miss a beat, “he's been beside me every step of the way.”

“Love does a lot of things,” Kay smiled, “in every direction.”

–

“Sorry,” Bedivere said for the third time in five minutes.

“Dude it's fine,” Dinadan tried to assure him, “How long does it take to charge?”

“From a quarter power?” Bedivere couldn't remember the last time he'd had to charge it in the middle of the day, “Hopefully twenty minutes uninterrupted will get it enough to get through the rest of the day.”

Mordred and Galahad joined them with their orders.

“Which one of you was the white mocha?” Mordred asked.

“Oh, me,” Dinadan took the cup.

“Then this one's yours,” Mordred handed Bedivere the other cup he was holding. Galahad handed Mordred one of the cups he was holding. They sat down across from the other two.

“I can't remember the last time I had to,” Bedivere bit off the rest of his sentence, “Sorry.”

“I feel like you've worn it for over twelve hours without having to charge it,” Galahad noted, “You sure it charged last night?”

“Positive,” Bedivere nodded.

“How often do you go out without Kay?” Galahad asked.

“Every day I work,” Bedivere thought back, “but other than that not often and only for a few hours. Why?”

“And has Kay been to your workplace?” Galahad wasn't being subtle about the questioning.

“A lot of times,” Bedivere leaned back a little, “Why are you asking?”

“Are you _positive_ Kay doesn't have some sort of influence over its ability to hold a charge longer than it's built to?” Galahad closed his eyes as he asked, wanting to focus on the words instead of Bedivere's reactions.

“Well, I thought I was,” Bedivere said after a moment.

“When we get back I could check if you want?” Galahad offered, eyes open again.

“Ask _him_ first,” Bedivere wasn't sure what else to say. Galahad nodded.

“On another note,” Dinadan didn't want to give either of them time to think too hard on it, “I know you three said you wanted to see something you hadn't seen in the city before, but how do you feel about just, just barely outside of the city?”

“I'm driving,” Mordred told him. Dinadan's face brightened.

–

“Has anyone seen Gawain?” Gareth asked into the general direction of the living room, also forgetting Mordred wasn't home.

“Not since Christmas,” Agrivane answered, “but he did say he'd be back for New Year's Eve.”

“Is everything alright?” Gaheris' worried voice came from the kitchen, “It's not like him to be gone for so long. Not...not since we moved here.”

“I'm sure he's fine,” Agrivane really, really wasn't worried, “I'm sure he and Bertilak have some catching up to do.”

“Have some...oh,” Gareth's eyes widened, “Okay, yeah, that would explain why he planned on disappearing for a week.”

“The townhouse walls aren't nearly thick enough to give the rest of us piece of mind,” Agrivane shuddered.

“Agrivane!” Gaheris almost laughed, “You've never objected to Gawain's...generally giving nature...before.”

“Castle walls are stone,” Agrivane argued, “Still, can't really blame him. His wife departed for another realm and then his boyfriend turned out to be a god. Can't really blame him for taking what he cane get when he can get it this life.”

“Say it like that and it just sounds sad,” Gaheris joined Gareth in the living room, “Mario Party?”

“You're on,” Gareth agreed. They both looked over at Agrivane expectantly.

“Sure,” Agrivane told them, “You kids had lunch?” They both shook their head no. “Set me up as well and I'll order something.” Agrivane ducked back into his room.

“Thanks!” Gaheris smiled.

“Love you!” Gareth called after him.

–

“This is the coolest fucking thing I have ever seen,” Galahad was pressed against a plexiglass wall.

“We really lucked out getting here the same time as a surgery,” Dinadan wasn't about to put his face on anything in an animal hospital.

“Marine center was a solid call,” Bedivere told him, “I had no idea this existed.”

“I'm a member,” Dinadan said, “Come here as often as I can, really.”

Mordred wasn't quite on the glass but still had his fingertips touching it, watching intently. “What's wrong with it?”

“Could be anything,” Dinadan said, “Chronic condition, abscess, ate some plastic.”

“Poor thing,” Galahad didn't remove himself from the glass.

–

“Easy,” Bertilak caught Gawain by the wrist, “It's been a long time since you've actively tapped into your magic, hasn't it?”

“Is it that obvious?” Gawain grumbled.

“You're channeling like you're ready to kill,” Bertilak loosened his grip but didn't let go.

“It's all I could do,” Gawain deflated, “at the end.”

“Then it's time to find out what you're capable of at this beginning,” Bertilak said gently. Gawain nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

–

“We're home!” Bedivere called into the house as he opened the front door.

“Dinadan took us to the Marine -” Galahad was chattering away excitedly, seeking out his fathers to tell them about their adventures.

Kay wandered down from upstairs. “Hey you,” he bounded down the last few steps to catch Bedivere in a hug, “sounds like you had fun.”

“Mmmhmm,” Bedivere kissed Kay's neck, “Are you done scheming?”

“You don't see me for hours and accuse me of scheming,” Kay pretended to be offended, “but no, not yet.”

Bedivere laughed.

“There's so much around here I haven't even considered to look for,” Mordred noted, “Like, sure it's a city, but I guess I've been writing it off as an American city.”

“I hate that I know exactly what you mean,” Dinadan remarked, “Scheming?”

“My money's on NYE,” Bedivere said, “Honey, I need to take my shoes off.”

“Do you?” Kay didn't want to let go.

“Kay,” Bedivere nuzzled him, “Everything alright?”

“Just in my own head,” Kay told him. 

“I, uh,” Mordred had just finished untying his shoes, “Here?” He started untying Bedivere's shoes.

“Thanks,” Bedivere was too tired to care.

“It's already the twenty-ninth,” Dinadan noted, “If we want to do something for the New Year as a group, we probably wanted to get tickets before now.”

“I know,” Kay complained, “It just feels like we're all kind of still trying to figure out what's going on and what we need to do and, just, ugh.”

“Come on,” Bedivere toes his shoes off the instant he felt Mordred finish untying them, “come talk to me.”

Kay let Bedivere lead them up the stairs.

“They're sweet together,” Dinadan commented.

“Like, they're both whole as individuals,” Mordred said, “but together they're _stronger_ wholes.”

“Exactly that,” Dinadan agreed, “If I felt any sort of relational drive I'd probably use them as my measuring stick.”

“Pretty sure that's not how relationships work?” Mordred hadn't meant for it to come out as a question.

“I wouldn't know,” Dinadan shrugged, “never really my cup of tea.”

“Fair,” Mordred returned the shrug.

–  
“A week?” Arthur was on his feet and shouting, “You tell me **nothing** for decades and now you tell me I have seven fucking days to get ready to see everyone again!”

“Arthur,” Guinevere started, but Morgan held up a hand. Guinevere stopped but crossed her arms and sat back in her seat. Yvain looked on in horror.

“I know,” Morgan met his angry stare with her icy one, “I know you're furious and I know you're hurt and I know you don't yet understand and believe me when I tell you I'm not happy either. But I am giving you as much warning as I can, Art, so take it or don't!”

“These are my men, my _family_!” Arthur shouted, “You wouldn't tell me why I needed to settle in America, wouldn't tell me why I had to spend thirty fucking years before you left me on the side of a highway in fucking New Jersey of all places!”

“She what?” Yvain whispered to Vivian.

“Exactly what it says on the tin,” Vivian whispered back.

“And now you're telling me in one fucking week the life Jenny and I built is going to be upended,” Arthur was still yelling.

“I didn't say that,” Morgan's voice was calm.

“What's today's date?” Guinevere whispered to Yvain.

“The thirtieth,” Yavain answered.

“Cool, I'll clear our calendars from the sixth to, like, the fifteenth,” Jenny decided.

Arthur took a step back. His calf hit the chair he had been sitting in. He sank to his knees instead.

“I'm sorry, Art,” Morgan's voice softened, “I truly, truly, am sorry.”

“Just go,” Arthur snarled, “Just. Just go.”

“I love you, Art,” Morgan said as she looked to Vivian, “Darling?”

“Yes,” Vivian nodded as she rose to her feet, “Jenny, Yvain, take care of him.”

“Wouldn't dream of doing anything else,” Guinevere was already kneeling next to Arthur.

“We'll see you again before this is over,” Vivian told them.

“Not highly assuring,” Yvain's eyes were on his king and queen.

“I know,” Vivian said before she and Morgan disappeared.

“Fuck,” was all Arthur could say before he broke down into sobs.

–

Gawain's mass text arrived at ten fifty-three at night on the thirtieth.

“He wants to know if we want to meet him and Bertilak in,” Bedivere tapped the location link, “the middle of a forest for the New Year.”

“I got the text, too,” Kay hadn't unlocked his phone, “Hold on a moment, love.”

Kay got up, left the room, knocked on Lancelot and Galehaut's door and shouted, “WE'RE GETTING OUR PARTY IN THE WOODS!!”

“GODDAMNIT KAY ARE YOU SURE YOU DON'T HAVE SOME SORT OF PSYCHIC POWERS!” Lancelot's voice came from the other side of the door. Galehaut and Bedivere's laughter met somewhere in the hallway.

–

“I could have rented a bus,” Dinadan said after two hours of driving.

“You don't have a CDL,” Tristan pointed out, not for the first time.

“Doesn't mean I couldn't have rented one,” Dinadan shrugged.

Even with every car everyone had to their names, it was a tight fit. 

_Everyone had instinctively gone to Lancelot's house in the morning, the text from Gawain after near a week of no contact so heavily on their minds they could think of nothing else._

_“I did text him a bit,” Lancelot said once everyone had arrived, “he said we can meet him in Pasadena and we can caravan to where he has in mind.”_

_“As long as he doesn't expect us to just wander around the entire city of Pasadena screaming for him,” was all Tristan had to say for the group to realize that, yeah, they were going to follow Gawain on whatever plan he was intent on carrying out._

“Party bus,” Isolde joked, “Make our own NYE party.”

“We could have done that back at the house,” Dinadan rolled his eyes.

“Anywhere's a party if you're not a stickler about it,” Percival said.

“I like this one,” Dinadan announced.

–

Gawain and Bertilak lead everyone deep into Angeles National Forest. It was deserted – officially closed – and pulled off into a parking lot.

Once everyone was parked and out of their respective vehicles, everyone circled up around Gawain, expectantly.

“Okay, so,” Gawain was grinning, “I had a feeling if you said yes you hadn't already made plans.”

“But why _here?_ ” Gaheris asked.

“Remember what we said months ago about needed a large swatch of concrete in the middle of nowhere to practice our magics?” Gawain asked, “Well, I know for a fact none of you work tomorrow and the parking lot is, in fact, a large swatch of concrete where no one will bother us.”

“I think it's an excellent idea,” Kay was quick to say.

“As long as we don't miss the countdown,” Dinadan agreed.

“And no forest fires,” Lancelot was looking at Kay, who was pointedly not looking over under the weight of Lancelot's stare.

“No harm will come to the forest or any of you,” Bertilak assured them.

–

“God,” Arthur's hands were shaking too much to shave, “fuck.”

Guinevere poked her head in the bathroom, only partly ready herself. “Art?”

“I can't believe I have to go to this fucking gala and pretend things are normal,” Arthur was still holding his razor, the base of his palms braced on wither side of the sink, shoulders hunched and eyes fixated on his reflection.

“Think of it as the Christmas we expected to receive news Gawain was dead,” Guinevere knew the suggestion was brash, “you held up just fine for that.”

“And it's easy to look back on because we know how it turned out,” Arthur sighed, eyes flickering to where her reflection was, “Gawain was fine.”

“And this may yet be fine,” she told him.

“Gods I'd fall apart without you,” he told her. She smiled, a kind thing, and he almost forgot his terror for a moment.

–

Gareth, with nothing better to do and arms tired from using the large branches everyone without magic had called practice swords, appointed himself as the clock watcher.

“Ten minutes!” he called as loud as he could. The ten-minute warning echoes around tot he various impromptu practice areas.

Kay and Galehaut had found an old radio in an empty ranger's station and rigged it to cast a wider reception net with some tape, a rubber band Mordred found under the driver's seat of his car, the the underwire from Isolde's bra. They set to recalibrating it and fiddled with it until they found a live countdown.

“Does it have an aux plug?” Tristan asked.

“Uh,” Galehaut looked it over, “Yeah, why?”

“Becuase I have an aux cable and louder speakers,” Tristan said. Kay and Galehaut exchanged a glance and then a shrug and then set to moving their contraption to the front seat of Tristan's car. After some minor readjustments, Galehaut reached over to turn Tristan's speakers as loud as they could go.

There was this uncoordinated but not chaotic rearranging of bodies, couples paired off but everyone circling Tristan's car, excited chatter abound.

“Oi!” Mordred's voice called out when he heard the minute countdown start.

Everyone started counting down together, the excitement over practicing as a unit and the magic that belonged to the moment a new year started mingling, allowing everyone to shed their inhibitions and ignore their fears, even if only for a minute.

“Five, four, three, two, ONE!”

Galahad grabbed Mordred's hand at the four. Mordred stopped counting to look at Galahad.

“Please?” Galahad asked so quietly Mordred had to lead his lips.

“Yeah,” Mordred said as everyone else hit the one mark.

It was a chaste kiss, a gentle thing that Galahad leaned into. Mordred put an arm around Galahad's back, a careful, almost frightened thing.

“You won't break me,” Galahad told him. Mordred, unsure what else to do, laughed without letting go.

“Oi!” Agrivane's voice cut through, “No!” A pause. “Not you, Mordred,, you do as you will, I'm yelling at your brothers betting on you over here.”

Galahad's face flushed red and he buried his face in the crook of Mordred's neck.

“Of course they did,” Mordred muttered.

“Happy New Year,” Galahad said into Mordred's neck.

“To choices,” Mordred was just as quiet.

“And new beginnings,” Galahad added.


	12. Seventh Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's nerves are fried on day five. The San Francisco crew has no idea what's coming their way.

Agrivane arrived to work early on the second, having spent most of the first sleeping on Lancelot's couch.

Exhaustion aside, something _felt_ different about the new year. Other years throughout both lives the celebration of the new had seemed a farce, something sold to people rather than granted to them.

He caught himself humming as he turned on the computer Galehaut had ordered for him to work from. Lancelot hadn't been kidding when he said the job wouldn't be busy.

Still, he'd had time to learn new skills and get paid for it, so he wasn't about to complain. Sure, he'd pick up odd jobs such as filling in at the front desk and cleaning up after the continental breakfast rush was over.

The trip back from the mountains had seen **everyone** in good spirits, and they seemed to have carried over for another day.

“Coffee?” Galehaut poked his head in the makeshift office, “not from the buffet.”

“Even if it was from the buffet I'd say yes,” Agrivane told him, “Please, thank you.”

“Back in a minute,” Galehaut said as he disappeared.

He reappeared maybe two minutes later with the promised cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin on a tiny square napkin.

“Much appreciated,” Agrivane said as he took it from him.

“Lancelot's approved the renovation plans,” Galehaut told Agrivane.

“Really?” Agrivane turned towards the other man.

“Really-really,” Galehaut nodded, “they're going to start this weekend and we're only going to do six rooms at a time at most, so we won't have to lose too much revenue.”

“Smart,” Agrivane complimented, “So, weekend. Saturday or Sunday?”

“Friday, actually, super late at night,” Galehaut answered, “So, they''ll start on the sixth and are scheduled to be done the first block on the ninth. Dust and such will be cleaned on the tenth, and Lancelot will decide on the eleventh whether or not he's happy enough to do the rest of the hotel.”

“You're nervous,” Agrivane meant it as an observation.

“He's been so difficult about it,” Galehaut was trying not to complain, “I get it, believe me, business has been great and he's worried changing things will cost more than they'll help. Oh! Lamorak and Percival haven't seen the hotel yet. Are you busy on Friday?”

“Before, during, or after work?” Agrivane asked, “And what about Percival?”

“Percival, Gareth, and Gaheris seem to travel as a pack,” Galehaut shrugged, “so they come here to swim quite frequently.”

“Percival's been good at helping them turn their restless energy into productive energy,” Agrivane said, “I'm not dealing with nearly as many messes and broken appliances.”

“Speaking of which,” Galehaut paused, waiting for Agrivane to fill in the rest of the sentence.

“I am by no means against all of living under the same roof,” Agrivane relented, “but I do worry about being able to, you know, provide for my brothers while not running myself so far into the ground I won't be able to get up again.”

“You're getting a lot better about articulating things,” Galehaut informed him.

“It was learn or fail,” Agrivane tried to sound unbothered, “Mordred's been instrumental, and in turn Galahad's been instrumental for Mordred.”

“I'm glad,” Galehaut offered a small smile, “They fit well together.”

“It's a surprise, but a welcome one,” Agrivane agreed, “though, I barely see Mordred at home anymore.”

“When we're all under one roof I'm sure we'll be able to see everyone as we need to without as much schedule coordinating,” Galehaut told him, “So, Friday, during work.”

“Just the web traffic analytic project,” Agrivane said, “but since neither you or Lancelot have given me a date range or a date to turn it in, I'm making the parameters up as I go.”

“You know far, far more than we do,” Galehaut had no intention of making decisions on something over which he had no grasp of understanding, “Do you mind giving them a tour of the place? I'm actually at an event and Lancelot has a meeting with the bank, which tends to take damned near all day.”

“Uh, sure,” Agrivane wasn't sure how to give a tour.

“Thanks,” Galehaut gave a small nod, “We both appreciate you.”

Agrivane wasn't sure how to follow up with that.

–

Arthur was pacing the back porch, running his fingers through his hair and sighing louder than he needed to. Guinevere and Yvain watched him, waiting for him to say something.

Three dogs laid at Yvain's feet, mostly asleep.

“It's supposed to be tomorrow,” Arthur finally spoke, “What do I do? Do I charter a bus to pick everyone up once we find them? Are they going to show up here? How many of them should we expect? Where will everyone sleep if we don't have enough beds? How much food do we need? Will they have their own things like clothes? What if they need medical attention? What if it's not everyone? What if Kay isn't there? Oh, gods, what if Kay _is_ there and hasn't forgiven me? What if Mordred's there and tries to kill me again? I'm not a fighting man anymore.”

“This is bad,” Guinevere said to Yvain.

“Worse than I thought,” Yvain agreed. One of the dogs lifted its head when Yvain spoke and put its head back down when he stopped.

“What do we even do to prepare for this?” Arthur paced back to them and stopped, “Seriously, what do we do to prepare?”

“Uh,” Yvain cleared his throat. He had some ideas, but the idea of acting to advisor to the king was a little intimidating at best and terrifying at worst.

One of the dogs thumped its tail.

“Well, we could get some things ready in an Amazon cart – air mattresses, folding cots, food, supplies,” Yvain tried to keep his voice steady, “and when we find out how many there are and what they need, we adjust the numbers accordingly. That way there's a day at most where we're waiting on delivery.”

“You're a smart man,” Arthur told him, “Come on, let's go see what the Internet says we need to accompany an insurgence of house guests.”

–

“It's not even weird to cram everyone into the living room on a Thursday night anymore,” Galehaut noted and he grabbed some cheese out of the fridge and handed them to Kay, “but it is a little weird for the panic over having enough for everyone to not be there anymore.”

“Habit is a hell of a sedative,” Kay remarked, “Bors and Lamorak get to see the hotel tomorrow, yeah?”

“Just before the renovation starts,” Galehaut nodded, “It'll be nice that everyone can see the before-and-after.”

“I'm glad the renovations are happening,” Kay said, “It's a nice hotel, but upgraded? It's going to be something guests will remember and recommend even stronger.”

“Like it isn't already a huge money pull,” Galehaut said with a laugh, “Oh! Lancelot said he'd be home around eight. The bank moved the meeting to four today and it ran late.”

“Poor Lancelot,” Kay wasn't being cruel or facetious, “How'd he sound.”

“Tired,” Galehaut said, “but in a good mood.”

“Good,” Kay put the cheeses on the cutting board, “to the last part, anyways.”

“He said we can order dinner once he gets here,” Galehaut said, “on his card.”

“Kind,” Kay found a word for it, “Generous, even.”

“But some finger foods will keep everyone happy until then,” Galehaut added.

“So, appetites stimulated instead of satiated,” Kay looked around the kitchen, “Got it.”

–

“No,” Guinevere held firm, “We're preparing for the reunification of the round table, not the zombie apocalypse.”

“But,” Arthur tried to argue.

“No!” Guinevere repeated, “I see no circumstances in which we're going to need to store a year's worth of canned food and we are _not_ ordering the shelving for it!”

“They could use it to keep their things on?” Arthur tried again.

“No,” Guinevere still held her line, “If they need storage it'll be shelving that at least offers some privacy.”

Arthur grumbled but agreed.

–

Lancelot made it home at seven minutes after eight on Thursday night.

“Hey love,” Galehaut greeted him at the door with a tight hug and a quick kiss, “How'd it go?”

“They were predictably grateful I could move the meeting at the last minute and love the idea of renovating,” Lancelot told him, “and still the most droll group of fellows I've ever met.”

“Here, let me take that,” Galehaut started to help Lancelot out of his coat, “Everyone's kind of spread out over a few games, but I think Lords of Waterdeep will be the first done if you want to join a new game instead of jump in a different one.”

“I think I'll just watch for a bit,” Lancelot told him, “I'm exhausted.”

Lancelot's phone went off.

“Shit,” Lancelot hissed, “I thought I put it on silent.” Galehaut frowned. “Mind if I take this, babe?” Lancelot asked.

“If you think it's important, not at all,” Galehaut assured him.

“Hello?” Lancelot tried his best to keep the phone held to his ear and take his coat and suit jacket off without dropping his phone or muffling his voice. “Yes, this is he. Yes. Yes. Owner and CEO. No, its. Oh. I. No. No, sir. No.”

 _”What's going on?”_ Galehaut mouthed. Lancelot held up a single index finger.

“Yes. I. No. No. I see. That's. Thank you.” The line went dead before Lancelot could hang up.

“No,” was all Lancelot said before he let out a primal scream that had everyone running.

–

“Jenny!” Arthur ran through the house, “Jenny!” His watch read 12:02AM, January 6th.

“Kitchen!” Jenny called, “Main kitchen!”

“Jenny, channel thirty two, now!” Arthur was panting for breath.

Yvain came running with his dogs at his heels. “What's going on?”

“Listen,” Arthur pointed to the television as Guinevere.

_”We are live in San Francisco where a fire that started about four hours ago in a mix-use residential and commercial building has spread over a city block is now a five-alarm fire. Included in the buildings assumed to be destroyed include one of the only privately owned hotels in the city known as **Joyous Garde**. Additional trucks are expected to arrive any minute now -”_

Guinevere turned off the television.

“Joyous Garde,” she could barely get her voice above a whisper. 

“Two minutes into seven days,” Arthur told her and Yvain. 

“We need to go,” Guinevere told him. 

“Already got me keys,” Arthur told her, “Yvain, will you mind the house and order, I don't know, an unreasonable amount of food or something?” 

“Of course,” Yvain didn't hesitate. 

Arthur grabbed Guinevere's hand. 

They started running. 


	13. Fires of Destruction and Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hotel is gone, but Camelot's rightful King has shown up in the edges of the wreckage.

“I'm going to need you up directions,” Arthur said as he reversed out of the garage.

“Already on it,” Guinevere had both of their phones, “and trying to find out anything I can about the hotel owner.”

“Fucking hell,” Arthur turned the car around in the driveway, “if my sister hadn't come to warn us I would have missed the news snippet.”

“I don't understand this any more than you do,” Guinevere snapped his phone into the clip-on holder.

“And you have magic,” Arthur said with a self-depreciating chuckle.

“Which is so strange, still,” Guinevere said mildly.

“Everything's been strange,” Arthur was already doing seventy miles per hour, “except the dogs, they seem pretty normal.”

“Yvain's had them for maybe two weeks and one of them seems to understand human speech,” Guinevere pointed out, scrolling through every news article she could find.

“It's a big dog!” Arthur blew through a stop sign, “Big dogs are, you know, usually smart.”

“That's not how it works,” Guinevere rolled her eyes, “Holy fuck the guy who owns it is named Lance.”

“Traffic laws are for after six in the morning or densely populated suburbs,” Arthur picked up speed.

–

“Someone needs to go to the site,” Galahad said as he hung of Lancelot's phone, “They'd prefer the owner, but will talk with someone who bears a note.”

“I can't,” Lancelot sniffed, “I just.”

“I know love,” Galehaut hadn't let him go from their embrace where Lancelot had fallen after he'd screamed, “I know.”

Little bits of information had been trickling in – mostly through news clips – and from what everyone could piece together the fire had started in one of the apartments in the mixed-use buildings. The renovation done to that particular building barely a year prior had taken shortcuts.

It had been the architectural equivalent of throwing a Molotov cocktail into a dry forest.

The insulation was the culprit, and everything it touched as it landed caught fire if there was anything to burn.

Joyous Garde had been right next to it.

“I'll go,” Galahad said, “I'll need someone to go with me who looks, well, more official, but if there's _any_ magic at play I'll be able to tell.”

“I'll go with you,” Bertilak said.

“I can forage a note from Lance,” Galehaut offered, “Someone get me pen and paper.”

Gaheris was closest to the kitchen, so he started rummaging through drawers to find a pen. Once he'd found both items Galehaut requested, he passed them to Gawain, who passed them up to Lamorak, who passed them to Kay, who handed them to Galehaut.

Galehaut penned the note and the pass-back chain started.

“Spare no details,” Lancelot told them, “I don't care how much it hurts, spare no details.”

“Yes dad,” Galahad was already getting his shoes on. Mordred handed Galahad his car keys.

–

“The closest I can get is still going to be blocks away,” Bertilak told Galahad, glancing between the map and the road.

“It's fine,” Galahad said, “the quarantine seems to be in place anyways.”

“Fucking hell,” Bertilak swore, “The smoke's still thick.”

“I'd imagine whatever's making the fire so hard to control is also making the smoke so thick,” Galahad guessed.

“Are you alright, kid?” Bertilak asked, “With everything, I mean.”

“As alright as the rest of us,” Galahad told him.

“You just seem...more removed than last time,” Bertilak found a parking spot.

“The magic is still something I'm getting used to and sometimes it's like a flood,” Galahad explained, “and having a familiar relationship is weird, and having a fledgling romantic relationship is unexpected but welcome. So I guess it's just a lot?”

“You seem to be holding up well, then,” Bertilak finished parking and killed the engine, “I can't believe we all spent three hours crammin in the foyer.

“Thanks. And what else was there to do?” Galahad tried to smile before exiting the car, “Fuck, even in the smoke, something smells like magic.”

“An ancient magic,” Bertilak's brows furrowed, “You're the one who took the call. Lead on.”

Galahad nodded, features set.

–

“Fucking hell,” Galahad rubbed his eyes, “How can someone have so little humanity they want to talk insurance payouts while the building is still burning?”

“You were smart to tell them the insurance would be discussed after arson was ruled out,” Bertilak told him, “though we both know it wasn't.”

“Nor do I think it was the insulation,” Galahad looked up at the sky, smoke and emergency lights making the night seem brighter than it had any right to be, “Whatever magic we're both feeling, it's behind this.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Bertilak set his jaw, “Come on, we need to ignore all common sense and get closer.”

“I hate that I agree,” Galahad was already walking towards the fire.

–

“There,” Guinevere pointed towards the barricade, “I think you can pull up there.”

“Still got your media pass?” Arthur asked, “because I'm not trying to get towed.”

“Naturally,” she assured him, “Gods I wish you could feel magic because this whole area is just _wrong_.”

“Kind of glad I can't,” he told her, “Be careful.”

“Love you,” she said as she exited the car.

–

Galahad and Bertilak were in the midst of being chased out of the blocked area under threat of arrest when they saw her.

“Is that..?” Galahad asked.

“Yep,” Bertilak popped the _p_.

They picked up the pace.

“Everyone who isn't emergency personnel is required to leave the area,” the man who had no idea how outclassed he was told Guinevere as they came within hearing distance.

Guinevere looked between the young knight and the god.

“Of course,” she nodded, “I'm sure these gentlemen will see me out safely.”

“It would be an honor,” Galahad wasn't being factious.

Bertilak took a sharp inhale of breath. He could feel her magic - a new, wild magic - as if were agitated.

"Arthur's double-parked just outside the barriers," she told him almost as soon as they were out of earshot of the escort.

"Bertilak, you get Arthur home a d I'll take the Queen," Galahad was still in charge.

"Please, just Guinevere," she told them, "Excellent plan, though."

Galahad knocked on the window of Arthur's car. He jumped, then realized who it was.

He was out of the car and embracing Galahad before he realized he'd moved.

"It really is you," Arthur felt like he couldn't breathe, "What happened? How many of you are there?"

"It's a lot," Galahad was sure he was crying but couldn't feel it, "in every direction. Bertilak will get you home. I can take Guinevere. Everyone is in one place."

"Yeah," Arthur let Galahad go, "Yeah, alright."

\--

"It's Mordred's car," Galahad told Guinevere as soon as they were on the road.

"Oh," Guinevere tried not to sound anything but neutral.

"He's different," Galahad followed up, "Everyone is."

"Who's everyone?" she asked.

Galahad listed the names.

"Holy fuck," Guinevere blinked a few times, "and everyone is in the same place?"

"Were when we left," Galahad nodded, "It's strange. I figured you two would be along eventually, or someone would run into you, but I hadn't expected it to come at such a cost."

"Tell me about the hotel," it wasn't an order, not quite, but it wasn't a request, either.

"Well," Galahad took a deep breath, "my dads built it with the hope of bringing everyone together and more or less hold the line until Arthur's return. It did its job time and time again, and the fact that it burned down the night of your - and his - return seems like it isn't a coincidence."

"It isn't," Guinevere told him, "but I feel the details will sit better later."

"I understand," Galahad nodded, "It's been such a weird few months. At least, that's as long as I've been here."

"The trickle becomes a flood," Guinevere recalled the old warning.

"Even if it takes the form of a different element entirely," Galahad replied reflexively.

Despite everything, Guinevere laughed.

\--

Galahad arrived only a few seconds of Arthur. Galahad got out of Mordred's car and held up on finger for _wait_ , hoping to give the others a few seconds' warning. Arthur nodded as he cut the engine.

Galahad hadn't counted on Mordred bounding out of the house and into the morning dark and wrapping him in an embrace while asking rapidfire questions about how everything went and how he was feeling.

Mordred peppered Galahad's forehead with kisses between questions, his lips barely leaving his forehead.

"Mo," Galahad's voice was so _off_ that Mordred drew back a little, "your da showed up."

"What timing," was all Mordred could bite out.

"I'm sorry " Galahad meant it.

"I know," Mordred wasn't sure what he knew, "not your doing."

Galahad squeezed Mordred tight and tucked his head in.

"Galahad?" Kay's voice was loud and clear, "Mordred? Bertilak?"

"That's my cue," Bertilak said to Arthur as he exited the car, "Down here!" he waved Kay down. Arthur, too exited the car, and the Guinevere when she saw Arthur standing in the rearview mirror.

There was, what they would later call, an exodus from the foyer to the driveway, each person wanting to know why the person who had just left had let out sounds so nearly inhuman after everything that had already happened.

Mordred stayed attached to Galahad, trembling with a mixture of fear and rage. He hadn't gotten a look at Arthur yet - didn't feel ready to look at the man who'd tried to kill him as an infant and then succeeded after he had defied the odds and made it to adulthood.

"Mordred," Galahad whispered his name like he was offering a lifeline.

"Millions of thought experiments and this wasn't one of the situations I had considered," Mordred said into Galahad's hairline.

The sound of the front door closing was loud in the otherwise stunned silence.

"Oh fuck," Galehaut shattered the silence, "Does anyone have a key?"

"I do," Galahad answered.

"You bring our king, our king, and the keys," Gawain's voice was shaky, "How would we manage without you?"

"A bit more chaos," Gareth's voice joined the conversation, his body still frozen as it was when he saw Arthur and Guinevere.

Arthur walked up behind Guinevere and put one arm around her, a tremble she could feel but knew the others could not see.

"Arthur you son of a bitch," Kay finally shook off his shock, "It's really you isn't it?"

"Afraid so," Arthur answered.

Kay walked over to Arthur and stood tall, proud, shoulders squared. Arthur moved Guinevere out of the way instinctively.

Kay embraced Arthur as his brother. 

"As long ad it's Uther you're calling a bitch," Arthur returned the embrace. 

"Oh, absolutely," Kay laughed as he released Arthur, "Galahad, we're going to need you to unlock the door, but I think we all need to move back inside." Kay was already halfway to the front door.

"Wait," Mordred let go of Galahad and walked over to Arthur.

Mordred was previously unaware that a group holding its breath had a sound.

Mordred stopped in about the same place Kay had, posture more rigid, eyes full of fear.

"Mordred," Arthur braced himself, ready to be struck.

Mordred closed his eyes and flexed his hands a few times, shoulders shaking. They were, he felt, in the edge of a precipice and whatever he said next determined if Camelot fell before it had the chance to rise again.

What did he value more? Hope for success, or the chance to say his piece? Revenge, or forgiveness? Righteous anger, or a terrified chance to change his trajectory?

He thought of how poorly Lancelot had treated Galahad the first time, how dramatically that had changed even in a few short months.

How long Lancelot must have thought about what he would have done differently.

How much Galahad welcomed the changes instead of railed against them.

Could he, just maybe, have something similar.

Mordred reached out a hand and placed it on his father's shoulder.

"Good to have you back, da," Mordred told Arthur.

"Oh thank fuck," Agrivane's voice cut through the tension. 

Galahad tossed his keys towards the back of the crowd, unwilling to stray far enough from Mordred to let everyone back in.

Dinadan caught them and took the front steps three at a time.

Bedivere felt a flicker of hope dare to flare in his soul.


	14. The Weight of Moments Passed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are powerful things.

It had been a week since everyone followed Guinevere – Arthur did not want to lead a caravan given his driving record – up to their vineyard home. Yvain had greeted them at the door along with his dogs.

The first three days everyone had spent in a sort of shock most of them hadn't been expecting. They'd began to believe the hotel wasn't the glue – what they were learning and the bonds they were forming were. The hotel was just the catalyst.

On the forth day Kay managed to drag himself into the main kitchen from the corner of the screened-in porch he and Bedivere had claimed as their place to sleep. The sun had not yet risen, but that hardly mattered.

He started cooking.

The smells of bacon and cinnamon buns lured exhausted knights into the general area of the smells' source, hungry, disoriented, and looking for what they were acutely missing.

It took another day before anyone started talking about what happened.

Another day still before next steps started being discussed.

But on the seventh day, Arthur suggested going over where and how everyone regained their memories.

“I'd rather not say it aloud,” Percival was the first to say anything, “I've never. It. Christfuck.”

“What if,” Galahad was looking at his father, “what if everyone could _see_ everyone else's story instead of having to tell it?”

“You seem sure I'm capable of that,” Lancelot crossed his arms.

“You are,” Arthur told him, “At least, you would have been the first time had you needed to.”

“I get one,” Lancelot turned to Arthur.

“From the top,” Kay interrupted.

“Arthur's always known about my magics,” Lancelot uncrossed his arms, “and always said he trusted me, but there would only be one time I could use them without permission.”

“And you never did,” Arthur added, “I know when you're lying. Or hiding something.”

“You're impossible to hide anything from,” Lancelot huffed.”

“You have my permission,” Bedivere spoke up.

“And mine,” Dinadan said.

“Show of hands,” Kay called, “anyone **not** okay with the route Galahad proposed, hand in the air.”

Kay counted to ten with his fingers. No hands were raised.

“So we're doing this,” Lancelot muttered.

–

_Yvain was in the middle of a sanctuary in South Africa, where orphaned lions who couldn't be released spent their days. He was on a feeding and fence check rotation when the biggest male in the park started stalking him._

_Yvain could feel the lion before he could hear it, so he turned towards the sensation._

_The lion took four running steps and stopped, head tall and proud. They locked eyes._

_Yvain couldn't tell his lives apart for a moment. He hit the ground like he had been kicked in the chest._

_He lion roared but did not move._

_'I am here,' the roar seemed to say, 'and now, so are you.'_

_–_

_Gawain was in the middle of a motorbike race. Not a legal one, but that had never mattered. It was part of the thrill._

_He hit a branch he hadn't seen and was sent flying. He landed and skidded before he was able tos tart rolling, barely coming to a stop before he hit a cluster of trees._

_“Hey,” a voice said. He couldn't lift himself up enough to turn to its location, “you're alive but you're badly hurt.”_

_Gawain tried to say he knew, but all that came out was a croak. He tried to get his arms and legs under him so he could push off the ground, but couldn't._

_“I'm sorry,” the voice was very clearly behind him, “both for what needs to be done, and that you will not know what's happened until much later.”_

_When Gawain's world came back into focus, he was back in his dorm room, still in his racing outfit. The protective outer layer was ripped in more places than it should have been for him to be in his dorm and not an emergency room or worse._

_His helmet was on his desk with horrific scratches across the top._

_The visor was shattered._

_Physically, though, he felt fine._

_There was a note on his desk in scrawled penmanship that read, **I am truly sorry, my little hawk.**_

_He threw up in his trash can._

_–_

_Kay had been at Bedivere's bedside for two days, only sleeping when his body crashed, only eating when one of the attending nurses brought him food and threatened to send him out of he didn't eat._

_Bedivere had just lost his arm in a work accident and the painkillers had him knocked out more than they let him stay awake. Still, Kay stayed, terrified of missing something._

_“You his brother or something?” more than one staffer had asked._

_“No,” Kay answered honestly, “but I'm all he has.”_

_**'And he's all I have,'** Kay never said aloud._

_He woke from a brief nap in a cold sweat, remembering the betrayal on Bedivere's face the night he'd walked away from him, away from Camelot, after his last fight with Arthur._

_“Never again,” he wept as he promised Bedivere's unconscious form, “Never, never again.”_

_–_

_Arthur was three days away from turning eighteen when he fell into the River Thames._

_He thought he was going to drown, alone and his winter clothes a death trap, when he was pushed above water and hauled to the bank._

_He coughed up water, shivering, but managed to crane his neck to see what happened._

_“Viviane,” he barely breathed, “I remember you.”_

_“Of course you do, young King,” she said with a sad laugh, “I'm sorry. It will get worse before it gets better.”_

_–_

_Lancelot had just finished grad school a month prior. He'd landed a job as a secretary to one of the downtown dental offices, desperate for money and a job, when he woke up feeling off._

_He had more and more trouble concentrating as the weeks went on, seeing things out of the corner of his eye that weren't there, hearing whispers._

_He feared he'd lost his mind._

_When he discovered his magic had followed him across centuries, he too no comfort in the revelation._

_–_

_Isolde was alone at a Berlin airport when her memories started returning._

_She felt helpless, ashamed, used. She had been a pawn in Marc's politicking and had no way to fight against that._

_The memories took a month to settle._

_She promised herself she would never find herself in a situation where she was only worth what a man wanted from here arain._

_–_

_Percival's first memories returned while he was in the shower. A communal shower._

_He was sobbing before he could stop himself, before he could turn off the water and wrap himself in a towel and run back to his dorm room where he could ride it out alone._

_“Hey,” a voice he recognized from his statistics class said, “Hold up a second.”_

_The water was turned off and a towel was draped over Percival's back. Percival forced himself to his feet._

_“Come on,” the familiar voice urged. Percival's vision was blurry but he could hear his things being gathered up, “my room's just across the hall and it's a single, yeah?”_

_Percival let himself be lead, finding he trusted the other student._

_He spent a long time wrapped in an unfamiliar but soft blanket with his head against the outside of someone thigh, sobbing and trying to get enough air into his lungs._

_“Fuck,” Percival finally managed a word, “you must think I'm pathetic.”_

_“You're handling it a lot better than I did, Sir Percival.”_

_It clicked._

_“Galahad?” Percival sat up straight._

_“Yes,” Galahad said as if it were a confession._

_–_

_Bedivere had just finished the last exam of his A-levels and planned on meeting Kay for dinner to celebrate._

_He was early so he grabbed a table and waited, looking over the menu._

_“Oi!” Kay's voice came from the doorway._

_Bedivere looked up and it was as if his Kay was flickering between torn jeans and a t-shirt he'd won in a bet and decked head-to-toe in resplendent armor._

_“As yes,” he whispered to himself, “it's always you.”_

_–_

_Mordred was in the middle of a game of billiards._

_He was winning, by some miracle, when his cue slipped._

_The sound it made when it hit the table was nearly identical to the last sound he heard in his first life._

_“Ah fuck,” he spat._

_He'd been on his own since he was fifteen, unable to face the horrors of home and unwilling to be put in the foster system._

_He hoped things started to make more sense from then out._

_–_

_For Diandan, it was at a karaoke night of all things._

_“You're up,” an absolutely stunning woman nudged him, “Knock 'em dead!”_

_“I will give them **life** ," Dinadan declared. A laugh from beside him belonged to an equally stunning man._

_“It's my party,” the woman said, “I say dead.”_

_“Oh my god,” Dinadan laughed, “You signed me up for Bon fucking Jovi, didn't you?”_

_“Go,” the man shoved him._

_Dinadan went, laughing, just a hair past tipsy._

_He grabbed the microphone and his lives blurred together, a symphony of color and sound and feeling._

_He nearly missed the beginning of his song._

_The voice that came out was that of a sixth century bard who'd wanted so badly to see more art than war._

_–_

_Bors whirled around on his heel and caught a fist before it hit him. He lead the man down, fist-first, the sound of jaw hitting tile unmistakable._

_Bors whooped, a thing so wild it was nearly feral._

_“Good!” a voice from the sidelines – his instructor - called, “You will make it yet.”_

_“I sure hope so,” Bors replied, “I cannot see myself working an office job.”_

_“Again,” the instructor said._

_The other man groaned and wobbled. Bors reached out a hand, an offer of help._

_“Always kind even when you have the right to gloat,” his fellow student said._

_Memory hit him harder than any punch he had ever received._

_“It is the right thing,” Bors knew he had said those worse before. Another life, another place, another man, and yet the same man as he was when and where he stood._

_–_

_Agrivane sat at the computer in the far corner of the lab, chair pushed all the way back and forehead on the very edge of the desk._

_He was the one of the last two students left and the lab closed in ten minutes. Procrastination was going to be the death of him one day._

_“Have you considered another major?” his professor asked the student a few chairs down from him._

_“I can figure this out,” the other student gritted out._

_“See that you do,” his professor's voice was tight, “I will not have my reviews go poorly because you're too damned stubborn to admit when you've failed.”_

_Agrivane's entire bode tensed up. He could feel himself ready to snap._

_“I'm doing my best,” the other student said weakly._

_“Your best isn't good enough,” the professor said matter-of-factly._

_Agrivane was on his feet before he realized it._

_“Young sir **sit down**. There's no need to get yourself in trouble because eone of your classmates doesn't realize when he isn't good enough.”_

_Agrivane knew those words. He'd heard those words. Felt those words._

_He'd crumbled under those words._

_Not again._

_“I'm sure if he was the only student having trouble your reviews would be unaffected,” Agrivane challenged, “In fact, I'm willing to bet most of your students are doing poorly and you're just trying to bully them out of your class one by one.”_

_“Stop,” the professor snapped._

_“Or what,” Agrivane's fists were clenched, “you'll explain to the department head you can't handle when someone points out you're a bully.”_

_The professor left, face red._

_“Thank you,” the other student turned to Agrivane with tears in his eyes._

_“Don't, uh,” Agrivane unclenched his fists and sat back down, “don't mention it.”_

_–_

_Gaheris and Gareth sat down across from each other in the student learning center of their high school._

_“So uh,” Gaheris' voice was so young, “are you tutoring for volunteer hours or as an alternative to detention?”_

_“Neither,” Gareth shrugged, “It keeps me away from home. What subject you here for?”_

_“Math,” Gaheris said, “Seems I'm just not good at it.”_

_“You've probably not been taught in a way that actually means anything to you,” Gareth pulled a pack of gum out of his backpack, took a piece, and then held it out to his new tutoring client, “Gum?”_

_“Uh, sure,” Gaheris hesitated for a moment before finally reaching out._

_“Hey,” Gareth's single word was strangled. Gaheris looked up._

_They didn't know how long they stared at each other, fifteen centuries building a bridge between each other, two brothers reunited at long last._

_–_

_“I don't know,” Lamorak frowned at his textbook, “it just seems wrong.”_

_“It's medieval literature based off even older folk stories based on that era's equivalent of urban legends,” his friend rolled her eyes, “of course it's wrong.”_

_“No, I mean,” Lamorak made a frustrated sound, “something about Morgause and Lamorak and Gaheris specifically just seems wrong.”_

_“It **is** incredibly fucked up,” another friend agreed._

_Lamorak made another frustrated noise but dropped it._

_“You coming to Pride this year?” the first friend asked._

_“As if I'd miss it,” Lamorak laughed, “Lord knows mom may have a heart attack.”_

_“Her perfect little son, corrupted by all the queers at his public school,” the second friend said in a falsetto voice, hands over their heart in a mocking gesture._

_“College starts next year,” there was nothing but relief in Lamorak's voice, “I'm never going home again.”_

_“Internships all over the world?” the second friend asked._

_“And semesters abroad,” Lamorak was hoping, “at sister colleges.”_

_“Fuck,” his first friend checked her watch, “I have practice in ten.”_

_“Which means I have rehearsal in ten,” his second friend was already on their feet._

_“Good luck!” Lamorak called after them before returning his attention to the passage he was supposed to have read by now._

_He fished a pen out of his bag and started spacing out as he underlined some parts that seemed important._

_He got to Morgause's name and started crossing it out. With each harsh mark he felt less and less like he had ever known anything about himself._

_When he was able to focus again, he's made a hole in the page as well as the two pages after it._

_“Ah,” he frowned, “it seems wrong because some things **don't** change._" 

_–_

_Guinevere's memories came back while she was trying to pick an espresso machine._

_“Okay,” she had the two finalists in front of her, “you're cheaper and have a higher capacity, but you claim to do things faster.”_

_“Having trouble, ma'am?” the clerk asked._

_“In general or over this?” she joked._

_“Over this, I suppose,” the clerk didn't realize it was a joke. Guinevere sighed._

_“If I'm looking for one that I'm going to be the only one using but I'm going to use it at least twice a day, which one's going to be the better value?” she asked._

_“Uh, let me get my manager?” the clerk shuffled off._

_Guinevere turned her attention back to the machines._

_“Capacity and price, time,” she muttered, “Price, time, price, time. Money is relatively fixed but time doesn't have a pricing guide. Fuck.”_

_“My manged says the one on your right,” the clerk said as he returned._

_“Perfect, thanks,” Guinevere picked up both machines. She put the one she wasn't getting back where she's gotten it and then walked the one that had been recommended up the the register._

_“Oh, yes!” another customer stopped walking to admire Guinevere's purchase, “Honey, that one is the queen of espresso machines!”_

_“Perfect for a queen like me,” she joked._

_It wasn't a joke, she realized almost immediately._

_She shook off her shock, unwilling to let the force of the thing hit her in public._

_“We are going to be the best of friends,” she told the box her machine was in._

_–_

_Galehaut was going to jump off the San Francisco pier, just to say he'd been on an adventure._

_Something was missing, something he couldn't put his finger on. Life had gotten dull and the usual things he'd found enriched his life lacked that same joy. He kept trying more and more things he knew he wasn't supposed to do, legally or for safety reasons, trying to see if any of them had that same spark._

_“Alright,” he said to himself, “just a swim. No shoes, just swim trunks and a t-shirt.”_

_He noticed someone else on the pier and realized if he took his swim now he'd be asking to get arrested. Probably._

_The figure kept walking closer. Galehaut stood still._

8

_“You local?” he asked Galehaut when he got in normal talking distance._

_“Why?” Galehaut didn't answer._

_“I'm thinking of building a hotel,” the stranger answered, “right on that plot for sale. But I don't know if it's actually a good area or I just think it is because I've spent my life until now land-locked.”_

_“It's not a bad area,” Galehaut told him, “Not much to do, but I suppose any city's boring when you've lived in it long enough.”_

_“Maybe you just need someone new to explore it with,” the stranger shrugged._

_“You're bold,” Galehaut finally looked at him._

_Galehaut nearly fell off the pier anyways._

_Lancelot grabbed him by the forearm, steadying him._

_When his world finally stopped spinning, Galehaut asked, “What if I want to explore it with someone I'm more familiar with,” he paused, “ **Lancelot**?”_

_“Oh thank fuck,” Lancelot hugged Galehaut tight._

_–_

_Tristan was working overtime at a one-off airport cafe when Isolde came through. He couldn't stop staring at her to the point he was worried she was going to call security._

_“Do you remember?” she finally asked him._

_“Excuse me?” Tristan drew back._

_“Fuck, ignore that,” she looked sad before she looked away, “Anyways, I'll take these.” She put a bottle of coke and a pack of beef jerky on the counter._

_Tristan rang her up, the silence awkward._

_“You alright?” his managed asked after she left._

_“Uh,” Tristan paused._

_“Oi,” was the first thing Tristan heard when his senses started to come back into focus, “You alive in there.”_

_“Never more alive,” Tristan removed his name tag, “Also, I quit.”_

_“What, you can't just,” his managed sputtered._

_Tristan was already running in the direction he'd seen Isolde leave._

_–_

_“You're the most useless son any woman has ever had the misfortune of pushing out her vagina,” the woman in the doorway snarled, “To think I hoped you'd be useful at keeping your good-for-nothing father around!.” She shut the door in Galahad's face._

_“Huh,” Galahad wasn't sure what he felt, if he felt as all, “well alright then.”_

_He had a backpack full of things he didn't leave at home because he expected this day to come._

_Galahad pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and made a phone call._

_“Hey,” Galahad said into the phone, “Can you come pick me up? Yeah. Yeah. I'll be at the gas station a few block down the road. No, the one closer to the mall. Is that alright? Yeah. Yeah. Thanks.”_

_Galahad hung up and started walking._

_He sat on the curb outside the gas station's pay area and waited for his uncle._

_The ancient truck could be heard before he saw it._

_Never before had he been so relieved to hear the offense to the eardrums._

_He climbed in through the long-gone passenger window._

_“I'm going to have to tape it back up when we get to the house,” his uncle told him._

_“I figured,” Galahad's voice was weak._

_“How you holding up?” his uncle asked._

_“I don't know,” Galahad answered honestly._

_They rode in silence for a while. Eventually, Galahad let himself cry. His uncle offered a comforting hand on his back. Galahad's too-thin shoulders shook violently with each sob._

_“Think it's for good this time?” his uncle asked as he turned into his driveway._

_“I'm not going back this time,” the firmness of Galahad's voice was so out of sync with the rest of him, “I can't keep doing this.”_

_“I can't offer you much,” his uncle said, “but what's mine is yours, and I can take you to school every morning and pick you up when I get off work if you haven't found you way back.”_

_“Thanks,” Galahad's voice was weak again, “It's more than mom gave me. More than Clarissa gave me.”_

_His uncle frowned. “I grew up with her. I know how she gets. I'm proud of you.”_

_“Thanks,” Galahad sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, “Is it alright if I just go to sleep?”_

_“All I've got is the couch,” his uncle told him, “the spare room's a mess and I won't be able to get a bed for a couple of months.”_

_“It's fine,” Galahad tried to sound assuring._

_His uncle unlocked the door and Galahad followed him in. True to his word, Galahad went directly to the couch and flopped face down. A minute later, his uncle covered him with a blanket._

_Galahad awoke in the middle of the night screaming. His uncle came running._

_“What happened?” his uncle's voice was thick with sleep._

_“Dream,” Galahad managed._

_“You okay?” his uncle turned on the hall light._

_“I think so,” Galahad pulled the blanket around him._

_“Ice cream?” his uncle offered. Galahad nodded._

_**To think,** Galahad thought to himself, knowing full well it wasn't a dream at all, that it had never been a dream the first three dozen or so times he'd had it, **the fucking Grail knight needs ice cream to calm him down.**_

_–_

“Fucking hell,” Gareth was the first one to find words again.

“We were all so young,” Guinevere breathed.

“And almost universally pretty fucked up,” Bors added.

“He died,” Galahad said, “Lung cancer, about a year and a half ago.”

Mordred held Galahad close. Galahad nestled into Mordred.

“You never told me,” Bedivere pulled Kay into him, “exactly what happened.”

“Nor did you,” Kay tried to defend himself, “I'm sorry.”

“Me, too,” Bedivere told him.

“Fucking hell,” Agrivane rubbed his hands over his face, “It's a lot to take in.”

“But it feels more right, somehow,” Yvain spoke up, “feeling and seeing instead of just hearing.”

“Trauma bonding is a hell of a drug,” Gaheris shivered.

“No drugs in the house,” Agrivane told him reflexively.

“Somehow,” Dinadan tried to center himself, “it feels like this was the right thing. The thing that needed to happen.”

“As draining as it was,” Lancelot steadied himself on the counter.

“Rest day?” Bedivere asked hopefully.

“Rest day,” Arthur agreed, “but soon, we re-focus.”


	15. So Many Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wants to do right by everyone. Fortune favors no one.

Arthur and Gawain had stayed up most of the night piecemailing a timeline of everyone's second lives.

Kay crawled in the kitchen to start breakfast to find them both half asleep, still trying to work on scattered, loose papers despite not having good grips on their pens.

“What the fuck?” there was no heat behind Kay's question.

“We're trying to find any common themes,” Arthur yawned, “besides trauma.”

“And?” Kay already had his head in the fridge.

“Seems that, for the most part, parallels between lives are a major kick-off,” Gawain put his face down on the paper he was working over, “and bonds.”

“You said re-focus,” Kay had an armful of sausages, “what was the focus in the first place?”

“From what I remember of the prophecy,” Arthur started saying.

“You will return when Britain is in her hour of greatest need,” Kay sighed, “Yes.”

“No,” Arthur corrected, “We would return when Albion's _power_ was in its greatest hour of need.”

“That changes things,” Kay frowned, “Any thoughts so far?”

“Well, I don't think that's me, because returning only to fuck everything over seems petty, even for the gods,” Arthur said with another yawn, “but so far we really don't have any other legendary British Kings we can find through history, Merlin's trapped in a tree, Uther's not returned, and Morgan would rather take herself out than become a threat to us.”

“There were kings before you,” Kay pointed out, “Can one of you get me a plate to put these on?”

Gawain rose to his feet and started looking for a plate.

“Whose names have almost entirely been lost to time,” Arthur complained, “We're not going to have a lot to go with.”

“Morgan,” Kay said, “and you mentioned Viviane. And Bertilak seems to at least have had some knowledge of what was to come, based on Gawain's memories. Do you think they'll have answers if we can find the right questions?”

“They are fair folk,” Arthur shrugged, “At least, Viviane and Bertilak are. Morgan's...honorary fair folk, so she'll be even harder to pin down with questions.”

“And fair folk really only give three answers,” Gawain said as he opened another cabinet, “so we'll have to pick carefully and direct each question deliberately.”

“You two need some sleep before you start trying to formulate questions,” Kay informed them.

“Only after you make breakfast,” Arthur told him.

“I'd like to talk to Bertilak first,” Gawain decided, “If – if you're okay with that.”

“Of course,” Arthur asked.

“Thanks,” Gawain finally found the plates. He pulled one down, set it on the counter, and walked off.

“All night?” Kay asked Arthur.

“Old habits,” Arthur shrugged.

–

Gawain knocked before entering the room he and Bertilak had claimed for themselves.

“Yes?” Bertilak said as Gawain entered, “My hawk, you never knock.”

“Arthur wants to start strategizing today and so far it looks like the bulk of the plan is to ask you and Viviane and maybe Morgan three questions each,” Gawain's words were rushed, each word mixing with the one before it, “and I'm terrified.”

“Come here,” Bertilak beckoned, “I will answer what is asked, but you may not like the answers.”

“There are a lot of things I dislike about this,” Gawain huffed as he crawled into bed, “but also a lot of things I do like.”

“Good,” Bertilak purred as he pulled Gawain against him.

Gawain hummed, a pleased thing, before settling into Bertilak and drifting off to sleep.

–

The winery's visitor center bar wasn't a round table – or a table – but it would do.

Guinevere had managed to call for Morgan and Viviane, and then managed to convince them to answer their questions.

“But first,” Arthur started pulling out wine glasses, “anyone who wants to do this with a drink is more than welcome to do so.”

Nearly half the room did.

Yvain's dogs had situated themselves each at one of the three doors, alert and guarding.

“so, brother dearest,” Morgan wasted no time, “You kids have questions.”

“Yes,” Arthur handed the wine bottle off to Kay, who snapped his fingers. Everyone holding a wine glass cued into a straight line, glasses extended once they got to Kay so he could pour easily.

“First question,” Galahad had offered to kick things off, “Bertilak, how would whatever we're going to be up against have been different had you stayed with Gawain after you found him after his accident?”

“I would have forced the timeline up sooner,” Bertilak answered, “before you were together.”

“Sounds like we're dealing with checkpoints instead of a hard order,” Bors noted.

“Morgan,” Guinevere felt odd addressing her in such a steely tone, “what enabled you to live a single life this entire time?”

“Marriage bond,” Morgan answered, “Next question.”

“Bertilak,” Agrivane asked after Gawain opened and closed his mouth a few times without a sound coming out, “how will the magics that have presented themselves be of use in this endevor?”

“They will come together in the darkest hour,” Bertilak answered.

Several beats of silence told everyone that was the only answer they were getting.

Lancelot's phone rang.

“Ah, shit,” Lancelot pulled the thing out of his pocket, “Y'all mind if I take this?”

“Not at all,” Morgan, Bertilak, and Viviane said in unison, faces smug.

“Fuck,” Lancelot swore again before he picked up the phone, “Hello?” He started walking to the furthest corner of the room that he could manage.

“Well this is awkward,” Arthur frowned.

“If I may,” Lamorak stood up, “Viviane, who or what are we going to be up against that necessitated our return.”

Viviane closed her eyes, the thinness of her mouth betraying her serene expression.

“Before the gods and fair folk walked the lands we all hailed from,” she said, “the land itself was wild, its magics twisted and abused by the first gods until the Tuatha Dé Danan wiped them out.

“The magic that should have been there was warped, wounded, hungry. It was furious and could not remember why. It fed on any magician, druid, or sorcerer who got too close to the line between mortal and god, drank their power and lifeforce and left them for dead.

“It was never banished, never destroyed, simply sealed away. And as with any seal, it can only last so long,” she finished.

“Well-formulated question,” Arthur praised Lamorak, “I never pegged you for a verbal strategist.

“DO NOT!” Agrivane and Lamorak yelled at the same time. Agrivane pointed at Gareth and Lamorak pointed at Gaheris.

Mordred was the first one to laugh.

“Mordred, what have you done to him?” Agrivane accused.

“I seem to have rubbed him off,” Mordred flushed, “ _RUBBED OFF ON HIM_.”

“Morgan,” Arthur asked, “How long do we have to prepare for this?”

“Today at most,” she answered.

“Final question,” Bedivere was standing as if he were in formation at the front of a shield wall, “Viviane, are we going to win this?”

“Of my child,” her face fell, “if I knew that I wouldn't be so worried.”

“Not really a question directed at anyone in particular,” Tristan was staring out the window, “but what's up with the clouds?”

“The storm comes,” a voice that sounded like Morgan's whispered.

Morgan, Viviane, and Bertilak were gone.

“Guess it's here,” Vyain sighed.

Lancelot hung up his phone and rejoined the group.

“It was the fucking insurance company wanting to know when I could meet them to discuss plans for the site,” he grumbled, “Sorry. I am so, so sorry. What did I miss?”

“First and foremost, whatever we're here for is about to come down on our heads,” Arthur told him.

The energy in the air shifted, chilled, and charged.

“Kay?” Gareth's voice was terrified.

“Not me,” Kay told them.

“It feels like the energy from the hotel,” Galahad looked around, desperate, “Circle up! Everyone leave as little of your back exposed as possible!”

The dogs growled and stood on all fours, hackles raised and teeth bared.

“At least it's not at the main house,” Guinevere tried to make herself feel better. 

Lightening cracked all around the building.

The power failed.

Kay summoned just enough fire to let everyone see again.

“Ah crap,” Tristan saw him first, “it's Merlin.”


	16. Pillars of Salt and Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone ever ready for anything they do?

“Fuck,” Arthur swore, “No.”

“Seems it,” Kay whirled around to face Merlin, “He's off.”

“Being locked in a tree will do that to a mage,” Merlin's voice crackled.

“Feed off...” Gawain's voice trailed off, “Holy shit, they, Morgan, the other two, they're expecting us to be stronger than it.”

“Fools,” Merlin laughed.

Gawain rushed first, almost instantly knocked aside by something unseeen. He landed with a thud and a crack, but got back up, favoring his left arm.

“SPREAD OUT!” Bedivere yelled. “HE CAN'T BE EVERYWHERE AT ONCE!”

“I appreciate your hubris quite deeply,” Merlin chuckled, his mouth unmoving.

A whip-like force stung the chests and faces of the front line, rendering their charges and evasive maneuvers useless.

“NO PRISONERS!” Arthur bellowed.

“Noted,” Merlin said.

Everyone decided, as if they shared a single thought, that talking was only hurting their case.

Kay, Gawain, and Galahad took three drastically different angles, hoping at least one of them could reach Merlin and land a hit strong enough to create an opening.

Kay tried fire first, but Merlin deflected it as if it were nothing.

Gawain threw a shoe.

“Really?” Agrivane stopped in his tracks and broke the silent agreement, “You're three steps short of being a fucking sun god and you throw a shoe?”

“Well if whatever's twisted him even further eats magic, the shoe seemed safest!” Gawain called back.

“Fuck, Kay swore and dropped back, “Fucking fuckwit of a, uh, a me, I guess.”

“Be kind to yourself,” Bedivere called from somewhere behind him.

Merlin knocked Arthur, Gareth, and Bors to their knees. All three of them were gasping and clutching at their throats as if choking.

Despite his better judgment, Kay summoned fire again. 

Magic eating or not, everyone needed to see.

Agrivane took his brother's cue and chucked a shoe.

Impact.

Merlin was distracted just long enough for the captive three to move.

“It's location-based!” Gawain whooped.

“Idiot,” Agrivane hissed.

More whip-like impacts stung at random, as if they were lashing out rather than seeking.

“This is the worst game of dodgeball I have ever played!” Dinadan yelled, “And I've played with knives!”

“What the hell type of dodgeball game has _knives???_ ” Isolde yelled.

“College was a really weird time for me,” Dinadan called back.

Everyone was on their feet and running, attempting to stay moving just enough for Merlin to avoid getting a lock on them.

The dogs joined in, barking and howling and zigzagging as if they understood their lives were at stake.

It was working until one of the invisible whips caught Arthur in the ankle.

“DO NOT RALLY TO THE FALLEN!” it felt like treason as it left Kay's lips, “MINIMIZE CASUALTIES!”

“LISTEN TO HIM!” Arthur struggled to his feet.

Guinevere ran to Arthur, who accepted her help up then pushed her the opposite direction he was moving.

Merlin was spinning around, eyes sharp and magic more focused.

Percival rammed into Merlin, striking his elbow on Merlin's spine between his shoulder blades.

They went down together, Percival landing on top of Merlin.

Merlin threw Percival back, but not before Percival managed to get a thumb in Merlin's eye socket.

“How Odinic,” Bors exhaled.

Percival landed wrong, leg broken.

“Shit,” Percival dragged himself up, standing on one leg.

“And blind from the back,” Bedivere realized.

“Still part man, at the very least,” Dinadan had been close enough to hear Bedivere.

“Still bleeds like one when you rip out his eye,” Bedivere was impressed.

Merlin was upright again, this time off the ground entirely.

Tristan threw an entire chair.

Merlin deflected it and it his Isolde in the temple.

“Shit,” she held both hands to the impact point, dizzy. Blood rushed down her face and neck.

“Isolde!” Tristan was running over to her before he realized where his legs were taking them.

Isolde was unsteady, pain blinding.

“It's porbably a concussion,” she muttered as Tristan kept her upright.

“We can't stay still,” Tristan hissed.

“I know,” she couldn't see, “Minimize casualties.

“I,” Tristan's soul fractured.

Galehaut's scream was next, legs collapsed and breaths pained.

“Shit,” Lancelot hissed. His steps faltered then paused.

Then Arthur was on the floor again, sprawled and exhausted.

“My energy,” Arthur muttered.

“He's going after couples,” Bedivere realized.

“Whatever you're about to do -” Dinadan didn't finish his sentence before Bedivere was charging Merlin, footfalls heavy.

Bedivere lead with his prosthetic arm, figuring it could take more impact.

Merlin summoned lightning.

It struck Bedivere's arm.

Bedivere flew back and his entire body skidded across the carpet.

Then nothing.

No movement.

No rise and fall of his chest.

Nothing.

Kay was next to Bedivere in an instant, body shaking and stomach churning.

He couldn't tell if the lack of pulse was from how badly he was shaking or...

...or...

Kay screamed, the fire he had summoned coursing through his veins as if to weaponize himself.


	17. Oh What Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What makes us human, perhaps, is the depth to what we feel and how it shapes what we learn.

“Fuck,” Gawain hissed. His arm was useless and the fire was burning so hot he felt like it was going to consume him.

“I can't,” Galahad was yelling to be heard, “I can't redirect it!”

“Grief,” Arthur yelled.

Kay rose to his feet, eyes burning with a hate he did not know he could feel.

He ran toward Merlin.

“He's going to get us all killed,” Dinadan was panicked.

“YOU GET ONE, LANCE!” Arthur said as loud as he could.

Lancelot understood.

Kay, quite suddenly, found his momentum slowing and fire dying out.

“No,” Kay whispered, “No, Lance, please.”

Merlin took aim at Kay.

“Fuck,” Mordred felt helpless.

The room froze.

Mordred could feel time itself screeching to a halt.

“Huh,” he breathed.

Magics coming together, he wondered, if there was a chance to salvage this.

He had so much to lose.

So much to experience.

So much to do over.

“I'd break time itself,” he told himself.

And so he did.

–

He found himself at Camlann, just after he would have died the first time.

It wasn't difficult to find himself, Excalibur still lodged in his heart.

“Sorry, mate,” he said to his own corpse, “but you were a little shit and I'm going to need this.”

He withdrew the sword with a sickening squelch, blood spurting and muscles exposed despite what remained of his armor.

“Ech,” he shuddered.

–

He was back at the battle he'd left, this time behind Merlin.

He was close enough to see the fear in Kay's eyes turn to shock.

Mordred ran the blade through Merlin, aiming for the heart.

Merlin didn't even make a sound.

Mordred stayed on his feet as Merlin's body fell forward, his shock a memento mori that mocked his arrogant madness.

“Fuck,” Mordred was still gripping the sword, “Fucking fuck shit.”

The room was still frozen, though not through magic.

“His body's dead,” Lancelot was panting, lungs exhausted and legs weak.

“But what about the magics?” Dinadan finished for him.

“That's where the rest of us come in, I guess,” Gawain was looking outside, “”Seems the clouds were specifically his doing, so, uh, I'll be in the window while the sun's reclaiming the sky.”

Kay crawled back to Bedivere and gripped his hand. The myoelectric one was the only one he had access to, but he grabbed it with both of his hands and gripped it like he could pray life back into Bedivere's body.

“Ready?” Lancelot felt the charge in the air.

“No,” Gawain called, “but that doesn't really matter, does it?”

“Steady!” Lancelot mostly ignored Gawain.

“Ready as I can be,” Galahad sounded slightly more confident.

“Jenny?” Lancelot asked.

“Ready!” her voice was little more than raw anger.

“Do we know what her magics are?” Tristan asked.

“Shush,” Dinadan warned.

Mordred held Excalibur firmly. It needed to stay where it was lodged, he decided, until this was over.

Silence so loud Agrivane worried he would never hear again.

Minutes dragged on, everyone still, waiting, hoping they'd know what was coming before it struck.

“Ready,” Kay's unsteady voice came from where Bedivere lay.

“GO!” Lancelot hoped, prayed, dumped every last bit of faith he had in his soul into the notion that they were going to win.

Tiny, sharp crystals of ice started dancing around the room, colliding with each other.

“I've got it surrounded,” Kay's voice was even less steady, “The rest of you, figure it out.”

Galahad reached out and guided the pieces further apart. They struggled against the misdirection, a high-pitched screech loosed from the warring efforts.

The dogs started to scream.

Guinevere sighed and opened a portal.

“I don't know where it goes!” she called. 

Gawain walked over to it and stuck his head in.

“It's an in-between!” Gawain pulled his head out, “So, not a realm where anything lives.”

“Perfect,” Galahad directed the crystals towards it.

“All in?” Lancelot asked after a moment.

Gawain and Galahad scouted the room.

“Clear!” Gawain called.

Guinevere shut the portal.

The trio who they'd been trying to question reappeared exactly where they'd disappear from.

“For doing what the gods could not,” Morgan wasted no time, “we can offer one soul returned from the land of the dead.”

“Bedivere,” Galahad said, “Give us back Bedivere.”

It really wasn't a choice.

“Very well,” Morgan shrugged, “He will need time to regain his strength.”

Kay was on his knees in front of Bedivere before the life returned.

“Holy fuck,” Kay managed a surprised, broken laugh as Bedivere took a breath, “Holy fuck.”

The biggest dog padded over to Kay and headbutted him in the chest.

Gawain realized, perhaps belatedly, that no such gift was ever given for free.

“Wait,” Gawain said, “what soul did you trade?”

“Do you have one on offer?” Morgan raised an eyebrow.

“Gawain,” Agrivane cautioned.

“Mine,” Gawain said, “with my body, as you gave yours so that Arthur's and all the souls attached to his would return when we were needed most.”

“How the hell did you figure that one out?” Viviane was impressed.

“Something I noticed during my time at the Green Chapel,” Gawain crossed his arms, “Life and death are in balance, even when forced. It may not look like life and it may not look like death, but it's in balance.”

“Unless something corrupts the very core of existence,” Bertilak nodded, “though we will now be much more free to wander between realms.”

“Gawain,” Agrivane said again, thought a plea this time rather than a warning, “Gawain, please, don't.”

“I won't be gone-gone,” Gawain pointed out, “no more than Morgan is gone or Bertilak is gone.”

“We need you,” Agrivane wiped the first tear on the back of his hand, “I need you.”

“You're an idiot of you think I'm not going to stay on this plane of existence,” Gawain informed him, “Just. Different.”

“Ten seconds,” Morgan realized she needed to instill a time limit on deciding if they were going to pick, “and, really, I'm both impressed you know this and horrified that such sacred arcane knowledge allowed itself to be revealed.”

“My offer stands,” Gawain stood as tall as he could, “for king, future, and peace, I offer myself as those before me have, mortal yet immune to time itself.”

“You're going to be an excellent forest king one day, my hawk,” Bertilak smiled.

–

“So uh,” Gareth was sitting on the counter, “what now?”

“Eventually I have to call my insurance company back,” Lancelot was face-down on the floor, still exhausted, “I can't believe we walked away with only a concussion on Isolde's part and a few rug burns.”

“Solar knight,” Gawain pointed to himself, “but I think my broken arm still counts.”

“It was healed before you even made it back to the house,” Agrivane argued.

“So uh, “Kay was sitting in the living room, holding Bedivere so close to him that he was okay with becoming a single, horrifying unit, “I don't have the energy to cook. Or move. Or do much, really.”

“It's so weird that we can go back to our lives,” Gareth said, “Like, we just saved the world and whenever I take myself off hiatus I'll be going back to listening to people complain that their coffee wasn't hot enough.”

“We do what we just did so that they can have a life where that's as bad as it gets,” Bedivere's voice was raspy but steady.

“We can order in,” Arthur offered, “After everything, ordering in sounds like a perfect idea.

–

Agrivane had managed to crawl on the roof of the vineyard house. The trees that shed their leaves were still bare, but the evergreens stood proud, full, unyielding to January's chill.

“Hey,” Lamorak said as he climbed up the side of the house, “do you think whoever build this house planned for the exterior stones to be used for this purpose?”

“No idea,” Agrivane shrugged, “but I want to say yes. Not your first roof visit?”

“No,” Lamorak told him, “but it's the first time I haven't been alone.”

“It's wild,” Agrivane noted, “that despite having twenty of us in one house we really only see anyone else over meals.”

“I came up to think,” Lamorak said, “and just kind of let it set in that we survived. That there's a life I left behind waiting for me as if nothing happened.”

“And yet, everything happened,” Agrivane sighed, “Yeah, same, for being on the roof.”

“Something about the view if just so visceral,” Lamorak took a seat next to Agrivane, “I can't ignore how alive and real I am up here.”

“There's so few things that just scream life,” Agrivane agreed.

Silence, aside from the wind, and then.

“You can say no,” Lamorak said, “but...”

“There's other ways to feel the so-very-there type of alive,” Agrivane picked up, “if that's what you're offering.”

“If nothing else you won't be able to say I've never pegged you again,” Lamorak looked over at Agrivane.

Agrivane laughed, a free thing. “On the roof?”

“Sure,” Lamorak shrugged.

–

“Again!” Gaheris said.

Gareth threw a piece of pepperoni.

It fell short.

“Come closer,” Gareth told him, “It's not like crackers.”

“Fiiine,” Gaheris whined but moved about a foot closer, “try again.”

A toss.

A success.

“Do you ever miss Gawain?” Gareth asked.

“He's only, like, three blocks away,” Gaheris said as he chewed.

“I know,” Gareth sighed, “it's just. It was all five of us for so long. And now Mordred and Galahad are talking about getting a place together.”

“I wonder what ever happened to getting one place,” Gaheris frowned, “I love San Francisco and it's much, much easier to get around than the biggest cabin I've ever seen, but I miss it being all of us.”

“Hopefully after Lancelot and Galehaut settle with the hotel we can ask,” Gareth said, “I can't believe it's been five months since. That.”

“I can't believe insurance settlements take five months,” Gaheris reached up and took the bag of pepperoni, “Wonder what's taking so long.”

“It makes me never want to own property,” Gareth noted, “From the sounds of it, though, Merlin tried to find everyone at the hotel first.”

“I'm glad he failed,” Gaheris grabbed a handful of pepperoni slices and then handed the bag back to Gareth, “Sorry for the property damage, but better property than people.”

Gareth nodded in agreement.

–

Bedivere leaned his elbows on the edge of the railing, looking out over the water.

“You were right,” he told Kay, “the views are spectacular.”

“It seems a lot of people had the same idea,” Kay was leaning next to him, their shoulders pressed tightly together, “Can you image not having a footpath?”

“People have done more reckless things for less spectacular results,” Bedivere said effortlessly.

A pause, and then, “Sorry.”

“No,” Kay told him.

“That's twice now I've scared the piss out of you,” he said.

“Not literally,” the edges of Kay's mouth threatened to curl into a smile, “but even if you did, I'd rather piss myself a thousand times than lose you.”

“Must be love,” Bedivere laughed.

“Bedivere?” Kay's question hitched.

“Kay?” Bedivere sounded worried.

“Twenty-seven years tomorrow,” Kay told him.

“Fuck,” Bedivere looped an arm around Kay, “I'm glad.”

“I know I'm always the one who kind of runs into things and shakes things up,” Kay was nervous.

“I'd never complain, not once,” Bedivere squeezed him, “And I'd follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“Well, that almost makes my next question superfluous,” Kay fidgeted.

“Kay, what's going on?” Bedivere turned to face Kay. “What did you want to ask, Kay.”

“Marry me,” it didn't quite out as a question.

“Like there's any answer but yes,” Bedivere's jaw was slack.

“Thank fuck,” Kay pulled a ring out of his pocket and slipped it on Bedivere's finger.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings make room for new beginnings, and life is always better when it's shared.

Gawain was pacing the halls, but if someone had asked he would have said he was exploring.

Bertilak chuckled. “You're thinking so loudly I'm going to be able to hear you soon, my hawk,” he teased.

Gawain made an affronted noise.

“You're nervous,” Bertilak stated.

“What else am I supposed to be?” Gawain asked.

“Honored,” Bertilak smiled.

–

“All set?” Lancelot was flitting between Galehaut, Kay, and Arthur.

“As ready as we're going to be,” Kay told him.

“Kay,” Arthur admonished his brother, “it is your _wedding day._ Go get ready.”

“I am getting ready!” Kay tried to defend himself.

“You're still in jeans,” Arthur told him, “Come on. Galehaut, Lance, take it from here.”

“It was just a few details!” Kay cried as Arthur dragged him off, “It's going to be my restaurant!”

“Which, it will be there tomorrow,” Arthur said gently, “your wedding is today.”

“I have a few hours yet!” Kay argued.

“You're anxious,” Arthur pointed out.

“Of course I'm anxious it's my _wedding_ ,” Kay whined. Arthur chuckled, but Kay wasn't as tense.

–

“It's kind of endearing,” Gaheris said, “that they're getting married in the hotel.”

“It's kind of amazing,” Agrivane added, “that it's been two years.”

“Already,” Mordred was standing on a table, trying to affix a garland to the curtain rod, “How many people are coming?”

“Besides us,” Lamorak tried to remember the figures, “I know they invited some of their friends from Wales and some said they'd make it, so I think around forty people?”

“Plus the staff,” Mordred pointed out, “So, guests plus staff plus the photographer they still don't know about and we might be getting closer to fifty.”

“I thought we were going to have to genuinely fight Kay for the planning bits,” Galahad laughed as he tried to hold the table steady for Mordred.

“You have to ask him things when he's tired,” Dinadan said, “He's less prone to being afraid of giving up control when he's tired.”

“That seems just a tad manipulative,” Mordred noted, “Is it even this time?”

“Hang on,” Gaheris jogged to the far side of the room, “Yeah, looks good!”

“Finally!” Mordred groaned and hopped off the table, “I'm shocked they let the six of us handle the decorations and fine details.”

“They let Dinadan do the fine details and know the rest of us are good at following directions,” Gaheris stated, “and also that none of us should be anywhere near two whole tuxedos.”

“I can't argue,” Agrivain said, “I wish I could, but I can't.”

“So not to take the spotlight away from the wedding,” Gaheris looked between Gawain and Mordred, “but how are you liking your apartment?”

“It's nice,” Galahad smiled, “smaller than I think we strictly wanted, but nice.”

“We're definitely not going to be able to get a dog,” Mordred nodded, “but it's a year-by-year lease.”

“We could get one of those old tiny dogs that doesn't do much,” Galahad suggested, “except sleep.”

Mordred huffed and wrapped his arms around Galahad's waist from behind.

“I actually think Galehaut's taking it harder than Lancelot,” Mordred said, “and that's saying something.”

“Dad was worried moving out would make having a father-son relationship harder,” Galahad booped Mordred with the back of his head, “Galehaut is having some sort of empty nest syndrome.”

“To be fair,” Gaheris said, “You two moved out, and Kay and Bedivere moved out, which meant their perminant household went from five to two.”

“And Gawain and Bertilak got a house in the suburbs,” Agrivane added, “so the five-pack of Orkneys now arrives as a three-pack, which has to be a rhythm disruption.”

“At least Lamorak always arrives with you three,” Mordred said, “so there's still a pack instead of a group.”

“Which,” Lamorak said from the long table where the food was going to go, “still genuinely surprised how well we get on.”

Agrivane had offered, his logic being that he was paying the same rent and there was an empty room with both Mordred and Gawain moved out. 

No one brought up the fact Agrivane hadn't moved out of the den.

“You and Agrivane get on,” Gaheris teased, “Gareth and I live in fear of what happens if we explode another microwave.”

“Another?” Lamorak stopped what he was doing and looked up.

“I exploded the microwave, actually,” Mordred said, “turns out you need to take raviolis out of the wrapper if you're going to microwave them.”

“Why on earth would you microwave ravioli??” Lamorak was alarmed.

“Agrivane wouldn't let me put them in the toaster,” Mordred said as if were the most obvious thing in the world.

“That's,” Lamorak tried to find the words, “that's somehow even more wrong.”

“Poptarts,” Agrivane pinched the bridge of his nose, “He's talking about Poptarts, as I found out all too late for the microwave.”

“You haven't told me this one,” Galahad laughed.

“It was the day you showed up,” Mordred told him, “a lot more important things happened.”

Galahad hummed, a pleased things.

“There were several months where I wished I could go back tot he worst of my problems being the microwave incident,” Agrivane admitted.

“You carried the entire family through all of those months,” Gaheris told him, “I wouldn't have guessed it was so hard on you if you hadn't told us later.”

It had been a brutal, ugly confession from Agrivane a few weeks after the battle. 

“The weight off my shoulders,” Agrivane hadn't found a way to explain it that felt right, “it was like everything I'd ignored to keep pushing forward tried to drown me.”

Gaheris hugged Agrivane, a thankful, fearful thing.

–

“I am not an event planner,” Tristan said as Isolde handed him her checklist.

“Kay's the closest thing to an event planner we have and it's his wedding,” she told him, “now come on, we have an hour until guests start arriving and the decorating team made it to about three-quarters done before they all had to take a break.”

“What did they still need to do?” Tristan asked.

“Smallest details,” Isolde told him, “place cards aligned, favors at every place setting, candles tested for how well they're bonded to their holders.”

“So, not much, really,” Tristan tried to keep up with her, “How are you so fast in heels?”

“Practice,” she called over her shoulder, “now come on, I have a feeling Dinadan's worrying between trying to get everything done and the other five.”

“What happened?” Tristan asked. Isolde slowed her pace.

“Sometimes, it's just all a lot,” she said, her voice quiet and tone gentle.

“Can't help that Agrivane and Lamorak are doing that weird, dancing around each other thing,” Tristan added, “if someone had a moment where it felt a lot closer than two years ago on top of all that...awkward tension...it couldn't have helped.”

“I know right?” Isolde asked, “They _live together_ and still skitter away when they realize they're standing close together.”

“I am and always will be an advocate for people doing things in their own time whenever possible,” Tristan handed Isolde's clipboard back to her, “but my gods.”

Isolde laughed but did not take the clipboard.

–

“It's like a noose,” Bedivere tried not to pull at his bowtie.

“Do you need it looser?” Bors asked.

“Nah,” Bedivere shook his head, “any looser and I fear it's not going to tie.”

“I could try,” Bors offered.

“I,” Bedivere paused.

“Bedivere,” Bors put a hand on either of Bedivere's shoulders, “bowties are often easier when you can see what you're doing.”

“I know, it's just,” Bedivere dropped his shoulders and held up his new myoelectric arm, “sometimes it still feels like I'm never going to get used to this one.”

“Oh?” Bors started undoing the bowtie.

“It's newer all the way around,” Bedivere explained, “It works just fine but it's the little things. Different speeds, different angles, different...well, it's just. Different. Getting used to a new arm is just different.”

“I would imagine,” Bors retied the thing, “Have you considered leaving it off for the day, if it bothers you?”

“I hadn't,” Bedivere admitted, “but I haven't discussed it with Kay.”

Bors raised an eyebrow.

“I'm nervous,” Bedivere admitted, “Holy fuck, I think it's reacting to the fact I'm nervous.”

“Since and feelings are strange things on their own,” Bors said, “but put them together and it seems they get stranger.”

–

The hotel was newer, sleeker, so much more modern than Lancelot was used to.

“Even the renovations weren't going to be this nice,” Lancelot stood in the middle of the lobby, “I can't believe we open tomorrow.”

“Having their wedding the day before opening is kind of a fitting ending,” Arthur told him.

“Ending?” Lancelot asked.

“We did what we were brought here to do,” Arthur shrugged, “the rest of this life, for however long we have left of it, is _ours_ , Lance. No prophecies hanging over our heads, no insane magics, no twisted wizards using children for their games. Our. Lives.”

“An end and a beginning,” Lancelot understood. Arthur nodded. “I still can't believe you let Mordred keep Excalibur.”

“It's his,” Arthur told Lancelot, “It's the key to ruling Camelot, yes, but he's more than proven himself ready and capable.”

“He did break the rules of spacetime,” Lancelot had to agree.

“And started the coming together of all of your magics,” Arthur added, “I am glad things are different.”

“Yeah,” Lancelot let out a shaky breath, “me, too.”

–

Lamorak stayed with Agrivane as Agrivane finished calming down.

“Sorry,” Lamorak was sitting on the floor in one of the hotel rooms, the smell of new bedding and furniture hanging in the air.

“What for?” Lamorak was sitting beside him, a block between Agrivane and the door.

“It's still just too much sometimes,” Agrivane began preparing himself to stand up, “It's been two fucking years and I'm still not over it.”

“I don't think any of us are,” Lamorak said.

“Well the rest of you are better at not showing it,” Agrivane snarled, frustrated with himself.

“Maybe we should be better at expressing it instead,” Lamorak had no idea how much that exact string of words meant.

–

“Kay,” Guinevere crossed her arms, “sit still, for gods' sake.”

“I'm trying,” Kay whined, “It's hair, why's it taking so long?”

“You're the one who said you didn't want a single hair out of place,” Guinevere reminded him.

“Yes,” Kay relented. He sat up straight and decided to have a staring contest with his own reflection to see if that kept him from shifting.

“You're handling your nerves much better than I did,” she told him.

“Really,” Kay's eyes widened, “gods, it feels like something's _broken_ , Gwen, I'm the one who proposed! Why am I nervous!”

“You're about to go promise your life to Bedivere in front of a fledgling god,” Guinevere laughed as she resumed fixing Kay's hair, “If you weren't nervous I'd be a little worried.”

“Like I wouldn't have pledged my life to him anyways,” Kay rolled his eyes.

“Still!” Guinevere flicked the top of his ear, an old, old habit. Kay laughed long and hard.

–

“Do you ever worry about what happens if it comes back?” Gareth asked.

“Sometimes,” Percival admitted, “but also, I'm not afraid like I was when I first regained my memories.”

“Why not?” Yvain asked, “I mean, what's your secret?”

“I figure if it comes back, so will we,” Percival shrugged, “and sure, there was a cost, but we learned so much and the hate that shattered the Table the first time just...isn't here anymore.”

“Huh,” Gareth hadn't thought of it like that, “How's your leg?”

“Okay as it ever is,” Percival told him.

His broken leg had never healed quite right, sometimes causing a limp and sometimes making getting out of bed an impossible task.

Nerve damage, the doctors had told him, from where the bone fragments had nicked one of the many nerves in his leg.

A reminder, Percival thought, that pain is temporary and victory is permanent.

“It's going to be nice to swim whenever I want again,” Gareth pulled Percival out of his own head, “I've missed the hotel.”

“I still can't believe Lancelot changed the name,” Percival shook his head, “Joyous Garde was so well known!”

“Yeah but it fits,” Yvain shrugged, “I can't believe Kay and Bedivere agreed to an open bar.”

“Oh I don't think they know,” Percival laughed, “The decorations crew did a fine job of taking over the planning.”

–

Lamorak offered Agrivane a hand. 

Agrivane took it.

“Again,” Agrivane said as he steadied himself on his feet, “thanks.”

“No problem,” Lamorak said reflexively, “Er, you're welcome.”

“How long do we have?” Agrivane asked.

“Uh,” Lemorak checked his phone, “A bit over half an hour.”

“Fuck, they're probably wondering where we went,” Agrivane swore.

Lamorak didn't point out that Dinadan or Gaheris would have told anyone who asked.

–

Having remembered the weddings of old, Kay and Bedivere had opted to throw traditions out the window regardless of their endurance value.

Kay, though he would never say it aloud to anyone but Bedivere, was glad he'd let the others wrangle the planning from him so they could focus on the ceremony.

“Folks,” Gawain's voice carried, unaided, “we're gathered to celebrate the power of love and bind these two souls to each other!”

–

“Until the ends of the Earth,” Bedivere was gripping Kay's hands so tightly he was afraid he was bruising them. Kay was gripping with a similar force, “I do.”

“And do you, Kay, agree to follow this man to the ends of the Earth, whatever challenges and strife you face, and walk in Faith knowing that together you are stronger than the heavens themselves?” Gawain had had to practice that line several, several times since it had been finalized to say it twice without laughing or crying.

“Until the ends of the Earth,” Kay's breath caught in his throat, “I do.”  
–

Despite their eagerness to start their married life, neither Kay or Bedivere wanted to miss the ribbon cutting ceremony.

Somewhere in the back of Kay's awareness, Lancelot and Galehaut were going through their mostly scripted speech-interview hybrid in front of the news cameras and aspiring bloggers who were also in attendance.

He and Bedivere stood off to the side, hand in hand, his mind entirely on how much had changed in such a short amount of time.

Fifteen centuries and the world had changed in a day.

Lancelot snipped the ribbon with a comically oversized pair of scissors.

“Welcome to Camelot,” Galehaut said with a sweeping motion towards the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck y'all. It's done.
> 
> What started as a joke about Dinadan owning a boat turned into over 40,000 words of this wild ride.
> 
> For those of you who stuck around for all 18 chapters, thank you.


End file.
